


Midnight Ride

by piratemistress



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest (2006)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-18
Updated: 2007-03-18
Packaged: 2018-04-11 20:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4451018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piratemistress/pseuds/piratemistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-AU-AWE (but not AU). Horses. Moonlit nights. Daring rescues. Think chivalry, knights of old, age of sail, and Pirates of the Caribbean meets... the Old West? Five years after their adventures, Jack and Elizabeth meet again by chance. Good fortune or misfortune? </p>
<p>“Perhaps the only thing better than having a woman to himself tonight, Jack thought with a slow smile, would be having two women to himself.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blazing Saddles

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday gift for talented, incredible and beautiful jacksmermaid, who provided the horsie prompt. Maybe it's more like a birthday cake, which is really made for the birthday girl, but everyone gets to taste it. Started it on Friday eve and will continue. And no, “Blazing Saddles” does not refer to my friends' 10th-grade Health class project on gonorrhea. Or perhaps it does.
> 
> No, the horse is not included in the pairing.
> 
> Disclaimer: Sure.
> 
> Historical Note: There are things a writer can know, and things a writer can't know. Did my level best given the Internet. For everything else, ask artaxastra.

_Kingston, Jamaica 17XX_  
  
  
  
Kingston agreed with Jack Sparrow on this particular evening. He was a bit weighed down with coin - though more so with rum - and he also supported upon shoulder and arm a lovely lass named Laurita, who leaned upon him probably as much as he leaned upon her, and so it was no wonder that as they made their way down Harbour Street in front of the new theater, they fell, grandly, into the street.  
  
They laughed uproariously over their fall, though Jack recovered soon enough to roll to his feet and guide Laurita out of the way of a passing coach. He guided her as far from the street as possible, which happened to be against a nearby pillar, after which he decided he ought to check her waist and torso for possible injuries from their fall.  
  
“Let's make sure you're all right, shall we?” he said, squeezing the feminine flesh methodically with both hands in a continuous northward direction. Just then, Laurita called to someone and waved over his shoulder.  
  
“Jack,” purred the lovely Laurita in an equally lovely Spanish lilt, “have you got a friend for my sister, Lucita? She's been so lonely and down on her luck, too...”  
  
He looked up and was about to turn around when he noticed the bill posted just above Laurita's head, topped as it was with dark curls. The yellow parchment curled at the edges was slightly faded, but the writing was still clear.  
  
_WANTED for PIRACY_ , it read. _JACK SPARROW._  
  
Below there was a crude drawing. It depicted a man with menacing dark brows and also included his scarf, hair and beads, together with a reasonable approximation of his goatee, tiny braids dangling. Jack lifted a hand defensively to his chin, frowning at the likeness of himself that scowled back with a sneer that revealed many missing teeth. _I've still got all my teeth_ , he thought, touching them with his tongue to make sure.  
  
_REWARD paid in Spanish Gold or Pounds_ , it read underneath.  
  
No room for an honest pirate in this town, any more.  
  
“Jack?” Laurita said, still waiting for an answer, as he reached over and ripped down the poster, noting briefly that there were several others, for other pirates, nearby. He decided to leave them - if they were looking for _them_ , they wouldn't be looking for _him_ , now would they? He dropped the poster and ground it beneath his boot.  
  
“Here comes my sister,” Laurita said with a smile, and Jack turned to regard the approaching Lucita with an appraising eye. “Do you know anyone who can keep her company tonight?”  
  
Perhaps the only thing better than having a woman to himself tonight, Jack thought with a slow smile, would be having _two_ women to himself.  
  
“I'm so sorry, darling,” he said to her, feeling at his waist for his coin purse. “My mates have all gone back to the ship. However,” and at this he slung an arm around the shoulders of the newly-arrived Lucita, “if you two are accustomed to sharing your things among you, like good little girls, I may have a few extra coins - and a few extra hours.”  
  
He flashed a gold smile at both of them and the two women laughed, their pitch of their giggles almost in harmony. Laurita began to nibble his ear, and he was exchanging - by the way of a get-to-know-you - a long, lustful glance with Lucita - when he heard a commotion just in front of the tavern across the way.  
  
It seemed a lad was being asked to leave. Well, that would be putting it mildly, Jack saw, as the lad was shoved by a large, meaty-handed lout out the door and then followed by several others.  
  
The lad landed facedown on the cobblestoned street, and one of the aggressors called “That'll teach you to keep yer hands in yer own pockets!”  
  
Jack didn't waste much time on pity. He was much better off minding his own business, as a general rule. The scene was a distraction from his greater purpose, now at hand, and so he tried to close his eyes.  
  
“Knock 'im down good!”  
  
A shame, truly, but no concern of his. Still, he blinked his eyes open again.  
  
“Aye!” another called, and gave a kick to the upper back of the boy, causing his hat to fly off. A length of richly colored tawny hair spilled out, and some of the onlookers jeered.  
  
“Right fine tresses for a pickpocket!”  
  
“Shall we show 'im what we do with such pretty lads, eh, Dominic?”  
  
Jack's hand, which had been working its way under the skirts of the increasingly amorous Laurita, stilled upon her thigh.  
  
“Better search 'im and make sure we got all our coin back!” yelled the one the other man had called Dominic.  
  
“Aye, I'll do it,” answered the largest of the bunch, with eyes that swelled nearly to bursting from his skull, and teeth and hands that seemed equally ready to detach themselves at any moment. He grabbed the boy roughly, who fought uselessly, and shoved his hands inside his jacket. The boy struggled, and soon the man ripped open the jacket with a gleeful expression. “Well, boys - I've a notion our conveyancer, here, 's no lad at all. D'ya want to feel fer yerself?”  
  
He shoved the lad in question into the arms of the short, wiry-haired Dominic. “Oh, is it now? If ye are a lad, you're possessed of a comely apple-dumpling shop!” The three burst into raucous laughter.  
  
Jack groaned. Not at the touch of Lucita's palm to his chest beneath his shirt, but because he had a feeling he wasn't going to get to enjoy her charms as thoroughly as he liked. If at all. But perhaps the evening could still be salvaged.  
  
He scanned the street for options as he heard the boy - or girl, it didn't much matter to Jack - yelling in protest. It was a fairly populated public street, where the pistol would probably not be of much use - and there were several of the large men, and only one of him. He also noted a few bits of red standing off to one side, and he'd no need to call the entire British army's attention to himself. Force would not be the best strategy here.  
  
That left negotiation, and flight. He dipped his fingers back into the coin purse. He had enough for the services of two lonely ladies of the night, but not enough to suppress the violent tendencies of three drunk Spanish horse breeders, from the looks of them. He saw their horses tethered nearby, one with a young lad stroking its nose. That one was too young to be the owner. Must be the guard. Which meant, that _particular_ horse was worth guarding.  
  
Or - _or_ , he could just close his eyes and help Laurita and Lucita up to the inn, where he could forget about the foolish lad in front of him, _and_ the price on his head, by immersing himself in the pleasures of the flesh. Several fleshes, he amended, a smile almost reaching his bearded chin. That was a better course of action, Jack thought. Wiser. Keep to the code, and all that.  
  
At that same moment the lad - all right, more likely a lass - screamed. Jack's head fell back and he swore violently, not because Lucita had finally insinuated a hand beneath his breeches, but because the scream sounded unfortunately familiar. He ripped his coin purse from his belt and silently said a quick prayer - as rare an occurrence as it was, and even less so the particular request - that the young man guarding the horses held a decided preference for women, for he was in need of a distraction.  
  
  
  
Elizabeth Turner had come to the end of her rope. Also the end of her patience, her coin, and it seemed - her disguise, for the lummox who'd knocked her hat off was now proceeding to grope her painfully about the midsection, and her struggles were to no avail.  
  
Will should have been back to port three days before, on their ship, the _Pegasus_ , with which they conducted mostly legitimate livestock and cargo trade and only the occasional bit of smuggling. Four days before, they'd separated in Spanish Town, agreeing to rendezvous in Kingston the following evening, but she surmised her husband must have run into some trouble. Not surprising, given that she seemed to have run into quite a bit of trouble herself. She was hungry and she had spent everything on lodging and food the first two nights. She thought it easy enough to pilfer a few coins from these louts, and she'd been right, the previous evening. Her mistake was attempting to rob the same men twice. She should never have done it. She should have recognized them, even in a different tavern on a different street. By the smell, she thought, wrinkling her nose as Dominic forcibly lifted her off her kicking feet and shoved her against the outside wall of the tavern, his hairy hand grabbing her crudely between the thighs.  
  
“Let me _go_!” she hissed as she beat his shoulders with her fists.  
  
“She's a feisty one!” “Show her how it's done!” the men called, and Elizabeth felt panic rising in her chest as she realized she couldn't reach the dagger in her boot with his stocky body in the way. She thrashed and scratched which only seemed to spur him on, and she found her back against the clay bricks and her boots off the ground.  
  
When he released her neck, she breathed a sigh of relief, only to feel her lungs tighten again as she saw him withdraw a knife and begin to slit open her breeches. The other men gathered closer, jeering, and she lashed out with elbows and knees, gaining herself a hard slap across the face for her trouble.  
  
The blow disoriented her, and everything seemed to happen slowly and far away. There was a flash of brown and black, some loud noises, animal noises? - the men yelling, but not at her, and a dull thump as though someone had been knocked to the ground - and she felt freed, and she slid down the wall, vaguely thankful he'd let her go but not sure why, and she met the ground gratefully, wanting only to let the blackness claim her. But she felt herself being pulled upward, and then she was lying on her stomach across something, and she was moving. Flying.  
  
_Maybe I'm dead_ , she thought. She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until she received an answer, from a familiar voice that nonetheless evoked both interest and a bit of alarm.  
  
“You're not dead yet, love, but I do wish you'd sit up and hang on to me, here amidships - so I can get us away from your fine friends a tad faster.”  
  
A hand was steadying her on her back, and she opened her eyes to see the ground moving - the ground could move? - and then turned her head to see the large rump of a horse, and realized she was draped across it. Almost instantly she began to feel as though she would fall, and she clung tightly, calling, “Slow down! I can't get astride at this pace!”  
  
“Ah, that might prove unhelpful, if you'll look behind us,” the rider said.  
  
She did. Dominic and his two friends were pursuing them on horseback through the busy street, murderous anger contorting their already hideous features, about two or three lengths behind. She only allowed shock to give her a moment's pause before she gave a mighty shove with her arms and wrapped them around the rider's waist, swinging her other leg over.  
  
“Well done. Better hang on,” her rescuer said.  
  
She squeezed tightly around his middle, her chin resting on his shoulder as he dug in his heels and the horse responded with a gallop. She could hear the staccato of each hoof as it struck the stone street, but they seemed to bounce very little. She settled into her knees to lighten herself in the saddle. Well, on the back of the saddle.  
  
It was then that she pieced together the voice, the feel, and the scent, as she turned her nose against her savior's neck as they made a sharp turn between several buildings.  
  
“Jack!” she said against several black ropes of hair in front of his ear. “What on earth are you doing here?”  
  
“Me? I'm riding as if fetching the midwife.” Jack pulled back and they turned again, beginning to head up East Street, the hills to their right. “Question is, what are _you_ doing here?”  
  
“I - “ Something whizzed past Elizabeth's ear, then, and she clung tighter to Jack. “What was that?”  
  
“They've shot at us.”  
  
“ _Shot_ \- ! All this devil among the tailors, over a few coins they've already taken back?” she said, incredulous, clinging as Jack urged the horse on faster.  
  
“Well - now, I believe they're more upset that we're escaping on their prize Paso Fino.”  
  
They emerged on yet another busy street, where passers-by scurried out of the way, drunk sailors staggered in the gutter, and soldiers in red turned in surprise at the commotion. Two stared pointedly at Jack and Elizabeth as they approached.  
  
Suddenly Jack tossed the reins in the air. “Take the reins, will you?” he said, and ducked forward, turning his face toward the horse's neck.  
  
Panicked, Elizabeth snatched them up. “What are you _doing_? Jack, are you mad?”  
  
“Shhh!” Jack hissed at her, clinging with one hand to the saddle, continuing to hide his face.  
  
As they flew past one group of soldiers, Elizabeth watched as one pointed and called to a group further up the road. “Pirate!” it sounded like he called - and then about five of the group ahead began to run out in the street about a hundred yards in front.  
  
“Not good,” said Jack, sitting up.  
  
“What's going _on_?” Elizabeth demanded. She stared, horrified, as two of the soldiers knelt in the street, aiming their bayonets straight ahead.  
  
“ _Halt!”_ called another off to the side. “Stop at once!”  
  
“No no,” Jack said to Elizabeth. “No stopping.”  
  
“Jack, they're going to shoot us!”  
  
“Well, they'd better be quick about it,” Jack said, taking the reins back.  
  
The horse charged ahead, and Elizabeth clung to Jack's middle as she gaped, open-mouthed, at the two soldiers in the street who drew closer and closer with every stride. “Jack! “  
  
“Hold on.”  
  
“You can't be serious. You can't mean to - “  
  
She closed her eyes as she felt the horse leap, hanging on to Jack with all of her strength, and felt as though she were flying, for a moment, before they landed with a tremendous jolt that nearly unseated them both, and galloped forward.  
  
She gained the nerve to open her eyes, and turned to see that the soldiers had dropped to the ground, and were now getting up and finding their own mounts to make pursuit, behind Dominic and his men.  
  
“Wonderful. Now there twelve men after us instead of three!” she called to Jack, exasperated.  
  
“Sorry, darling, it seems I've got a price on me head,” he replied. “What's your excuse?”  
  
She thought about how to answer as they reached the outskirts of the city, and began to follow the road into the countryside. It was a still night, a clear, warm night. It might even be beautiful if she hadn't gotten herself into this situation.  
  
A dull pop from behind them, and Elizabeth saw pieces of bark fly from a palm tree ten feet ahead in the fading twilight. The horse, startled by the noise, began an even more frantic gallop. She turned to see Dominic, closer than before, peering at them down the barrel of a pistol. In the distance she could see the group of soldiers making pursuit. “Jack!”  
  
“Get my pistol from my belt, around my hips. And hurry.”  
  
She reached around, feeling where she thought his pistol ought to be, encountering edges of trouser and tunic and warm flesh underneath. “Where's your hip? I can't see anything.”  
  
“Don't have time for an anatomy lesson - although I might enjoy this, if we weren't going to _die_.”  
  
“I'm trying!” she hissed into his ear, finally feeling her fingers close around a metal barrel. “Got it.”  
  
“Good. Now hang on tight with one arm, and turn around and shoot.”  
  
“ _Me_? I'm already guilty of larceny, and now you'll have me add murder?”  
  
“If you don't, you're going to die rather soon, anyway -and since I would prefer to live a bit longer, _please_ shoot at them.”  
  
She grasped the pistol awkwardly in one hand. “This rusty old thing? I don't know that I'll be able to hit anything at _all_ with _this_!”  
  
Jack gave an exasperated sigh as they began to climb into the hills. Palm trees lined the roadside, and as the buildings fell away, the moonlight shone down from above, bathing everything in an eerie clear light.  
  
“Can you handle the reins?”  
  
“Yes!”  
  
“Good,” Jack said, and pressed them into her hands. “Hold on tight.” In the next instant he had swung a leg over the saddle and sat between her arms, his cheek against her neck. He leveled the pistol on her shoulder.  
  
“Jack, what are you _doing_?” Her question was answered by a loud bang that rang painfully in her ears. The horse whinnied and Elizabeth tightened her grip on the reins. “For God's sake, Jack!”  
  
“Not at all,” he replied as she felt him shift against her, and rest his elbow on her shoulder.  
  
His hip - now quite locatable - was, in fact, located between her thighs, a fact of which she was reminded each time she bounced slightly in the saddle. His chest was pressed against hers, and his arm reached easily over her to hold the pistol. She could feel the brush of his beard against her shoulder, where her shirt had been peeled aside by the very reprobates at which Jack was now firing. It had been a long time - five years - since she'd been close to Jack Sparrow. She'd almost forgotten what he sounded like, looked like, felt like.  
  
Almost. But not quite.  
  
Another deafening shot rang out, and she heard a man's shout of pain from behind them. It sounded farther away than before. “Got him,” Jack breathed in her ear.  
  
“There's still the other two,” she said, speaking into his ear, over the din of the hooves. “And the soldiers.”  
  
“I think I got the only one with half a brain, however,” he replied. “But listen carefully - when we round those rocks, leave the road. Take her into the trees.”  
  
“Off the road? But we could be heading right into a swamp! Or off a precipice!”  
  
“We're a bit high up for swamps, but the precipice is a possibility,” Jack said, lowering his arm to wrap around her waist. “Notwithstanding - I'm out of shot, and unless you've got some gunpowder hidden in your knickers, we're going to have to outsmart the other two.”  
  
“And the soldiers!”  
  
“ _And_ the soldiers.”  
  
She said nothing but followed his instructions. Once they rounded a stony outcropping in the hill, she pulled hard right on the reins and the horse neighed in protest but obeyed and they made their way into the trees. After a few seconds, once the darkness surrounded them, Jack leapt off and took the reins, saying, “Shhh.”  
  
He pulled Elizabeth down to the ground and held the reins in his fist.  
  
Both of them held their breath, or tried, because they were both panting from the exertion, but lay in the soft soil amidst the cries of frogs and chirping of insects. The horse stamped her foot impatiently, and Jack reached up to stroke her neck. “Easy,” he said. Then he lay down beside Elizabeth, his elbows underneath his chest to prop him up.  
  
Elizabeth lifted her head from the ground, peering through the darkness to the road. Her breath came in gasps, and she felt Jack's hand at the back of her neck. “You, too,” he whispered, and in a second they heard the beat of the hooves of their pursuers. One group passed. The Spaniards.  
  
Then came another, louder rhythm. The soldiers.  
  
They lay in the near-silence, hearts pounding in their ears, listening as the second set of hoofbeats drew nearer and nearer, and then seemed to slow. Stop.  
  
Elizabeth turned terrified eyes on Jack, who lay next to her. He was still looking at the road, but almost as though he could feel her gaze on him, his dark eyes moved to meet hers.  
  
It had been so long since she'd last seen him. And yet, it almost seemed as if no time had passed at all. That same slow, sinful heat seemed to simmer in the depths of his irises, stirring an answering tension in her insides. As they listened for their followers to pass by, hoping, wishing, she stared back at him, wondering where the years had gone. She really looked at him for the first time, again, in the darkness, trying to discern any new lines on his face, any new beads in his hair. He was still beautiful, she acknowledged, a bit disappointed with herself for thinking it, but also curious that she should be so aware of his appeal, his dark hair and full lips and dancing eyes, when they were about to die. Or perhaps it was the impending threat that made her notice beauty in the first place.  
  
It was quiet for a long moment, during which Elizabeth wondered if they'd be caught. Would she see her husband again? And what she would do if they weren't caught? What would she do then? Would Jack ask her to go with him, offer her his protection... and dare she accept it, if he did?  
  
She glanced up and close to the road, and she saw a flash of dark red among the trees in the rapidly dimming twilight. Jack followed her eyes, and saw it too. When his eyes met hers again, they seemed to be uncertain. Questioning.  
  
In the space of a second, it dawned on Elizabeth that she need not lay here, helpless, dependent on Jack to save her. She could save herself, with a single scream. The authorities would be more than happy to release a single, hapless pickpocket - a woman, no less - in exchange for a notorious pirate. The reward would buy her lodging anywhere she wished and probably a great deal more, too. Her lips parted as she stared back at Jack, raising her head from where her temple had been resting in the soft leaves. She drew in a large breath, enough air to produce a scream.  
  
As though he could read her thoughts, his features seemed to harden into an impassive mask, and before she knew it, he had reached out and rolled her to him, covering her mouth with one hot, grimy palm. She whimpered and struggled against him, to no avail.  
  
“Can't have you giving us away, can I?” came a soft but menacing whisper in her ear, his warm lips against her lobe. “That would be most unkind, since I rode to your rescue earlier.”  
  
She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, deciding that he _deserved_ to be arrested for manhandling her this way, and she would be happy to take part in it, thrilled, in fact. Or perhaps she was angry at herself for being thrilled by the feeling of him along her back and thighs, how naturally he settled between the curves of her bottom, as though they'd been meant to fit that way. His other arm came around her middle to hold her still. She was surprised at how strong he was.  
  
She wasn't sure if she should feel safe, or in more danger than ever.  
  
His breath was hot against her neck, and she closed her eyes, shivering despite the warmth of the Caribbean night. _Revulsion_ , she assured herself _. I am disgusted by him_. _Completely, utterly..._ He splayed his fingers lower on her midsection, drawing her tighter against him, sending quivers through her abdomen to throb between her thighs. _Thoroughly disgusted_.  
  
After what seemed like an eternity had passed, she heard the sound of hoofbeats again, but this time, softer. Fading.  
  
They were riding away. They'd been fooled. She felt Jack's thick brows rise against her cheek, and he removed his hand from her mouth, leaving only a finger across her lips, as though to say, _Not yet_.  
  
She exhaled rapidly, as silently as she could, but she could hold her breath no longer. Her warm breath rushed past Jack's calloused finger as it lay on her lips. She felt him smile at this, too, against her jaw, and when the hoofbeats were so far as to be nearly inaudible, he removed it and raised his head to look down at her.  
  
Their faces were inches apart. She suddenly found herself studying the angle of his nose, the wide set of his eyes, the lush fullness of his black brows and beard. Perhaps that was why she didn't notice that he was moving closer and closer until his lips were a hair's breadth from her own. She didn't think to protest. Her heart beat wildly. She was alive.  
  
  



	2. Pursuit

  
  
The song of the insects and frogs around her seemed to grow softer, or else the relentless beating of her heart was drowning out all other sounds, even Jack's slow breathing, even her own breathing, as she felt his warm, rough palm at her jaw, his thumb stroking a wisp of hair away from her face. He paused there, not moving closer, just holding himself above her, his nose just lightly touching hers, first on one side, on the other side. Her lips parted in response, and she closed her eyes.  
  
_Jack Sparrow_...  
  
He couldn't be real. He was the stuff of dreams that woke her in a fine sheen of sweat, ones that made her cheeks burn with shame and that weighed her down with guilt when Will would feel her stir and reach for her. She did not allow herself to think about him, ever, but her sleeping mind seemed to have other ideas.  
  
So was she dreaming, then, to be in this copse of trees, in the dirt, with Jack himself all along her length, his weight resting gently, pleasantly upon her, making her want to soften and wrap her arms around his neck and...  
  
“Elizabeth.”  
  
“...mwhat? Yes?”  
  
“I said, we can get up now. That is, if you still want to?”  
  
She opened her eyes, and found Jack smirking at her, amusement making his obsidian eyes glitter. He never meant to kiss her. He was punishing her for even thinking of betraying him, she realized.  
  
She promptly shoved him in the chest, and he fell off her with a grunt.  
  
“No call to be _rude_ ,” Jack grumbled as she scooted forward and climbed to her feet.  
  
“Thank you for your intervention at the tavern,” she said coolly, approaching the horse, who shoved its nose into Elizabeth's outstretched hand.  
  
“That's all you've got to say? I risk my neck riding like hell, give up a _very_ comfortable evening, together with an entire sack of shiners, I might add, and you're not even going to offer to repay me in kind?”  
  
Elizabeth scoffed. “I do thank you sincerely, Captain - you _are_ still a captain, aren't you? - and promise to have your coin repaid just as soon as my husband comes into port.”  
  
The words seem to hang between them in the warm night air. There was a pause while she petted the horse's nose and ears, stroking them softly. She could feel Jack approaching behind her.  
  
“So, you married him after all, did you?”  
  
“Of course I did.”  
  
“And you're what? Privateers?”  
  
“Simple traders. Will didn't want to give up the sea life, and neither did I. He sold the shop and we invested in cargo. It's very lucrative.”  
  
“That why you're stealing coin from horse breeders in taverns?”  
  
She shot him a murderous look. “That, Captain Sparrow, was an accident.”  
  
“Captain Sparrow again, is it?” He stepped up next to her, reached for her waist, and turned her toward him. “I only want one thing by way of repayment, Elizabeth. I want you to call me Jack, again, since I've saved your skin. How many times does that make, now? Three or four?”  
  
“Two, in which it was not placed in peril by your actions in the first place,” she said through gritted teeth. “And your Christian name -“ she paused, giving him a scathing glance, “forgive the misnomer - is hardly a suitable form of address between a married lady and a strange gen - well, em, fellow.” _Pirate_.  
  
“And where's this proper married lady planning on spending the night, eh?”  
  
She turned away, putting his hands off her. “If we can return to town by another route, I'm sure there's an inn somewhere that will let me stay on the promise of payment tomorrow.”  
  
“Not in Kingston,” Jack said with one corner of his moustache-rimmed mouth pulling up in a smile.   
  
“Care to lend me some of that coin you spoke of? That would resolve it, as well.”  
  
“Can't. It's gone.”  
  
“Gone?”  
  
“Well, not _gone_ , but no longer in my possession. Lucita and Laurita have it, now.”  
  
“Lu - who?”  
  
“The doxies.”  
  
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “Come to think of it, I have heard their names...” She tapped her chin thoughtfully with a forefinger. “Oh, yes - while I waited in the tavern last night, some soldiers were talking about them. Said something about being Frenchified, or scalded, or some such nonsense. The word 'flapdragon' mean anything to you? Whatever it is, they've got it.”  
  
“No idea at all, love,” Jack lied, his eyes widening in relief. “But let's let bygones be bygones. The point is, I gave the coin to them to charm that young lad they had guarding _that_.” With a tilt of his head he indicated the horse.   
  
Elizabeth turned her attention back to the animal, whose large, dark eyes showed almost no white, resulting in an earnest, friendly expression. “Quite lovely,” Elizabeth said, drawing her hand along the neck and flank. “What did you say he was?”  
  
“She.”  
  
Elizabeth glanced at Jack, and then peered briefly underneath the horse before returning her hand to petting the side. “Well, it's dark - and besides, he could have been a gelding.”  
  
Jack seemed to shudder at her choice of words for a moment, before strolling closer. “She's a Paso Fino.”  
  
“From her nose, I'd have guessed an Andalusian.”  
  
Jack inclined his head. “Well - those were some of her ancestors, I believe. The Conquistadors cross-bred the Andalusian, the Jennet and some other... Barb, perhaps? to produce the Paso Fino. The 'fine walk.' They're breeding them in Cuba, now, and near San Juan, too.”  
  
“Why - she's _mixed_?”  
  
Jack looked offended. “In the first place, there's nothing _wrong_ with being 'mixed,' as you said. Secondly, the Paso Fino's a hybrid breed unto its own, now. A Caribbean specialty.”   
  
“I remember... just after my father and I arrived in Jamaica, I was brought along while he assessed the surrounding lands, and one morning, we reached this outcropping that looked out over all the fields, left abandoned when the Spanish fled... and there was a wild pack of them, running free. They moved almost as a single body. It was astonishing.”  
  
“Yes. Animals - much like humans - when left to themselves, take to wild running and frantic breeding.” She saw him eye her with a teasing glint.   
  
“How did you - how did you _know_ what she was?” Elizabeth asked.  
  
“The guard was a clue. Meant she's valuable. So either a racer, or a breeder.” Jack scratched the horse gently between her ears on top of her head, and she bucked her head in reply. “Couldn't tell if she were a stallion or a mare at the time, but now, I'd say likely a brood mare.”  
  
“Hm,” Elizabeth remarked. “She runs awfully fast - and nicely, too - but they'll just breed her?”  
  
Jack paused, lifted his head, looked over at Elizabeth. “Breeding's what she's _for_. She's probably quite good at it. What's wrong with that?”  
  
Elizabeth opened her mouth to retort sharply before she caught the playfully narrowed corners of Jack's eyes and the pursed shape of his lips, no doubt to keep from laughing. He was teasing her again.  
  
She reached out and lifted the long, dark mane, the bottom tip of which fell almost to the horse's knees. “They haven't been grooming her properly. Look at this. It's not been kept.” She brushed the horse's nose. “And her forelock's so long it's a wonder she can see.”  
  
Jack reached out and replaced Elizabeth's probing fingers with his own. “For your _information_ , the Paso's hair is left _long_ because that's how it _grows_.” He glared at Elizabeth for another second before tossing a few locks of his own behind his shoulder. “It's perfectly natural.”  
  
  
“For a valuable breed, she doesn't look very muscular,” Elizabeth observed, stroking the horse's shoulder with the pad of her forefinger.  
  
Jack fixed her with yet another offended stare. “The Paso doesn't display a lot of showy muscles. She doesn't have to. It doesn't mean she's any less capable. She's got strong legs.”  
  
“Well, you certainly seem to admire her,” Elizabeth said a bit sharply.   
  
“And why shouldn't I? She's a fine horse,” Jack said softly, trailing his hand along the horse's flank. “Gentle to hand, but spirited in saddle.” He shot Elizabeth a mischievous glance that seemed to drop quickly. “Nice, rounded rump. Holds her tail up as she's supposed to.”  
  
He had met her eyes again, and Elizabeth turned away from his inspection, refusing to allow him to assess either her spirit _or_ her rump any further.   
  
“Nice thing about Pasos,” he went on, “is their cooperative nature. She'll try anything her rider asks of her - provided she understands what's being asked.” Jack eyed Elizabeth again, slyly, and added softly, “Would you be so willing, I wonder?”  
  
Elizabeth lifted her brows. “Are you implying I've no more sense than a _horse_?”  
  
“We'll have to let her go, soon, you know. Can't parade her through town. I do wonder if she'll find her way back to her breeder... or join up with a wild pack of them, somewhere. If there are any left. Course, maybe she prefers her life as a brood mare. What does she know about the rest of what life has to offer?”  
  
Elizabeth bristled at the innuendo, and abruptly snatched up the reins. “Don't talk about her that way.”   
  
The horse's eyes seemed to widen at Elizabeth's brusque tone, and her eyes moved to Jack as he replied, “It's getting late. We'd best be heading back to the ship.”  
  
“Back to the...” Elizabeth stopped for a moment, and the Paso whinnied softly. “Do you really think I'd stay on board with you? That's not fitting at _all_.”  
  
Jack rolled his eyes. “You know, I do get tired of getting those murderous looks from you, when I'm only trying to help.”  
  
“Oh, _certainly_. Help me into your - cabin, no doubt.” Elizabeth, no sooner having uttered the words, felt her cheeks heat. At least she hadn't said, 'help me into your bed,' which she'd been about to say. Nonetheless, she felt Jack's dark eyes upon her face, and perhaps the horse's, too. “What are _you_ staring at,” she said to the animal, who flicked her ears forward and back in reply.  
  
“Cabin or not, you'd be wise to accept my generous - but temporary - offer of hospitality, as another run-in with Dominic and crew might not turn out so well for you. Given that you are so short of funds, as you said.”  
  
The horse snorted as if in agreement, and Elizabeth sighed. He was probably right. This once, she'd have to swallow her pride and do as Jack suggested. “All right, I'll go with you to the ship,” she mumbled, and scratched the side of the horse's face just under her eyes. “I guess we'll say goodbye, then, soon.” A sudden thought came to her. “Jack, we should name her.”  
  
“The ship's already got a name.”  
  
“Not the _ship_ , the horse!”  
  
“Oh.” Jack strode closer, drawing up behind Elizabeth. He slid one arm around her waist, and pulled her gently against him. “A nice Spanish name, perhaps?”  
  
Elizabeth caught her breath, but tried to ignore Jack's proximity. It made her thinking foggy. “Er, how about...”  
  
“...Lucita?”  
  
“Certainly _not_ ,” Elizabeth snapped, and Jack chuckled against her hair. She lifted the horse's long forelock and ran her thumb over a spot on the horse's brow. “She's got a tiny white mark, just here. It almost looks like a star.”  
  
“ _Estrella,_ ” Jack whispered. “There, now, she's our guiding star.” He reached out and covered Elizabeth's hand with his own, running his fingertips along the horse's nose. “All right, love, we best be going.”  
  
“And _don't_ call me 'love.”  
  
“I was talking to the horse.”  
  
Elizabeth took a deep breath and let it out, and freed herself from the far-too-comfortable confines of Jack's arms. “Very well. Let's go, then.”  
  
Jack checked the road to make sure it was clear, and then he led the newly dubbed Estrella out, and Elizabeth followed.   
  
“We can ride this way for a bit, there's a path through the hills that curves back around toward town. This isn't a sidesaddle, so, er...” Jack eyed Elizabeth slyly. “Do you prefer riding in front, or behind?”  
  
“ _I'll_ ride. _You_ may walk,” she said imperiously, slipping a foot into the stirrup and mounting gracefully.  
  
Jack scoffed. “What, so you can leave me behind and warn the gentlemen in red that I'm coming along? Want that reward after all, do you?”  
  
Elizabeth set her jaw and hoped she wasn't reddening, not that it would be easily seen in the darkness. The thought _had_ occurred to her. Jack soon swung up in back of her, and slung an arm lazily about her belly.   
  
“Hmm,” he said into her hair as he settled, fully, against her. “Think I'm going to enjoy this.”  
  
Elizabeth tried her best to ignore him, nudging Estrella into a leisurely _corto_ and they ambled down the dark road.   
  
She was very tired, she realized after a bit. The repetitive, gentle motion of the horse was soothing. It had been years since she'd ridden, since before she and Will were married. Before their adventures with Jack, even. She almost considered riding a part of her childhood. She didn't realized she was leaning her head back on Jack's shoulder until he softly drawled, “Shall I take the reins for a bit?”  
  
She was too sleepy to argue, and ceded the reins with an _mmmph_ before turning her face against his shirt. Once she did, however, she was even more aware of him; the subtle musk of his skin, the crisp hairs emerging from his open collar that tickled her cheek, the solid feel of him along her back and legs. And something else, something quite firm, pressing against the curve of her derriere.   
  
Her eyes flew open. With every step he rocked against her, gently, smoothly. Deliciously... _no_. She forced her eyes closed and feigned sleep as she tried to quell a rising panic. _Don't think about how he feels. Don't think about how it would feel if he... if they... No._   
  
It would never be. Those days were long past. She loved her husband. There might have been a time, long ago, when she'd have considered something so ridiculously foolish as running off with Jack Sparrow to begin some torrid tête-à-tête and unleash all of her juvenile passions. But she was a different woman now. Will Turner was a good man, and furthermore, he was _her_ man. Jack Sparrow never belonged to anybody but himself.  
  
She found herself wondering how she got herself into these scrapes. Several hours ago she'd been poor and hungry, then in danger of being beaten and ravaged, then shot at, and now... what dangers lay ahead of her tonight? She tried to collect her thoughts as Jack's warmth, Jack's smell, Jack's voice seemed to permeate the very fibers of her being. She opened her eyes to see how she was enfolded in his arms as they rode. Protectively. If he hadn't come along when he had... well.  
  
Out of the frying pan, and into the fire.  
  
She shifted in the hopes of separating their bodies, only to elicit a muted groan from Jack's throat, his arm tightening around her.  
  
“Stop wiggling like that, for pity's sake,” he whispered, his lips soft and pliant against her forehead. “Can't stand it.”  
  
The painfully whispered words had the effect of heightening every sense she possessed, and she bit her lip to suppress a soft moan of her own. Knowing that he wanted her only made it worse... she turned her head away from the scent of his skin and the heat of it, taking a deep breath.  
  
Somehow he guessed she wasn't asleep. In the next instant, Jack's eyes found hers and everything seemed to go completely still. She could count his eyelashes, she thought, watching as they fluttered closed and he leaned in. He was going to kiss her. _Yes, please_ , she found herself thinking as she closed her eyes, too. _I'm dying to kiss you again_... and though she felt shame, she swallowed it and wet her lips in anticipation.  
  
The slightest touch of his lips to hers. A gentle brush, back and forth. No more. Her lips parted. He caught her lower lip between his, lifted it, released it. A tease. A noise of frustration escaped her throat, and she opened her eyes when she heard it. She hadn't even realized that the utter stillness was because they'd stopped moving.  
  
He was smirking. “Well, Mrs. Turner, it seems we've reached a crossroads. Do we walk together from here to the ship, or... shall we go into those trees and bed down there for the night?”  
  
He wanted to mock her. Fine. She sat bolt upright and would have thrown herself off of the horse had Jack not jumped down beforehand. He reached for her waist to help her, and she allowed him to lift her down, telling herself not to notice the hot strength of his hands at her sides... and that he wasn't letting go.  
  
He must have seen the trepidation in her expression, for he lifted a hand to cup her jaw, pinching her chin firmly and looking down into her face. “Scared? The only difference I can think of between the two - the trees and the ship, I mean - is that out here there's no one to hear you scream... and there, no one will care.”  
  
She bristled in spite of the heat his words stirred deep inside of her. “And just what sort of _screaming_ do you anticipate, Capt - _mmh!_ ” Her retort ended in a low whimper as he yanked her toward him and covered her mouth with his.  
  
No teasing this time. He drove her lips apart in mere seconds, and staked his claim to her with almost punishing force, tasting every recess of her mouth, holding her head tilted to the side so that he could slant his mouth over hers again and again. And so help her, she was _kissing him back_.  
  
Her heartbeat doubled its tempo as she found herself wrapping her hands around his neck, feeling the ties of his faded bandanna, sinking into his long, ropy hair. It was more exciting than the theft, than sailing, then the chase itself. Why did Will's kisses never feel like this?  
  
_Will_. Thinking about him should have been enough to cool her ardor. It wasn't.   
  
Jack pulled away suddenly, leaving her to blink open her eyes in a daze as he released her, turning his back. “On second thought,” he was saying in a roughened, lowered voice, “I don't fancy a roll in the dirt tonight. We're returning to the ship.”  
  
_A roll in the dirt_. Her cheeks burned with shame. And well they should have, too. She searched for a retort. “I hardly think you'll come out of it any dirtier than you already are.”  
  
He gave a bitter chuckle and ignored her, leading Estrella a few feet ahead to the crossroads. Elizabeth watched silently as Jack began to loosen the fastenings of the saddle.  
  
Despite have made all his remarks about the suitability and usefulness of the brood mare, he was releasing all the buckles and straps, and tossing the saddle into the underbrush. “Go on, now,” he said to Estrella. “Go find your brothers and sisters, eh?”  
  
The horse looked at him. Rather sadly, it seemed to Elizabeth.  
  
“Go on.” Jack drew back his hand and slapped Estrella, firmly, on the rump. She started, but did not move. He lifted his arm again, and hit her harder. The smack echoed in the quiet night. “Go on!” he called.  
  
The horse whinnied argumentatively, but began to make her way down the road. Jack and Elizabeth watched as she walked away in her smooth, even gait.  
  
“Did you have to strike her so hard?” Elizabeth said to him with a note of lament.  
  
“Makes her think twice about sticking around. Or coming back,” he said, his face seemingly expressionless in the moonlight. He turned the opposite way. “Let's go. I know a back route to the harbor.”  
  
Without waiting for her, he ambled away. She turned and stared after him, wondering whether she ought to follow. Definitely not, she concluded, but she had little choice in the matter. After a moment, she began to walk, quickly enough to catch up to him. Overhead, she noticed, several stars burned brightly in the dark, quiet night.  
  
_  
_


	3. A Matter of Time

  
  
They reached the ship just after midnight. Elizabeth trudged exhaustedly, on aching feet, across the ship and into Jack's cabin behind him.  
  
She felt on the verge of collapse as she made her way toward his bunk, which despite her earlier trepidation looked suddenly quite inviting. Jack produced a bottle of rum from somewhere and began to shed his clothes. She might have commented on it, or at least glared at him, if she could have kept her eyes open long enough.  
  
Moments later, she felt his weight in the bed beside her. “Lemme have the bed,” she mumbled in protest.  
  
“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice an equally exhausted rasp.  
  
“What kinduvva gennelman won't lend a lady his bed,” she argued into the pillow.  
  
“And what kind of lady banishes her Lancelot to the floor of his own cabin, er, castle,” he groaned, lifting the bottle to his lips.  
  
“I _can't_ share a bed with you, 'm _married_ ,” she insisted.  
  
“Bet that's what Guinevere said, the first two or three or ten times. Here, have a bit of rum, and you won't mind nearly as much,” Jack said, reaching over to part her lips with his thumb. He splashed a bit of rum between them, and she swallowed gratefully.  
  
“I've a boot in my knife and I'll use it, too,” she warned, and gathered the pillow to her head more possessively. In a moment, deep breathing replaced the murmuring and Jack thought he heard a soft snore.  
  
  
Jack sighed, setting the bottle aside, and leaned down to pull off her boots. Somewhere she'd found some to fit her reasonably, and he admired them briefly before placing them on the floor. He began to pull the sheet from under her leaden body, when he spied a bit of white, filmy undergarment where there shouldn't have been any showing. Between her legs, her breeches were slit wide open.  
  
“Lizzy, you've got a great gaping hole in your kicksees,” he told her sleeping form, pulling the sheet from beneath her feet and laying it over her waist. He thought a moment about how it might have happened, as it seemed not to be a tear incurred while riding astride, but a clean slice... and then his nostrils flared, and bile rose in his chest as he lifted the bottle to drink more rum. He'd like to get his hands on those Spaniards...  
  
His need for sleep soon won out over his anger, however, and the last thing he remembered doing was reaching out an arm to hastily shove the cork back in the bottle, and flinging the same arm back into the bed as he turned his face into the pillow.  
  
  
When he opened his eyes again, dawn light was filtering through the dirty windows, and he believed himself still dreaming. Usually when he thought he held a half-naked Elizabeth in his arms, he was dreaming. But this felt awfully real, and her sharp elbow poking him in the stomach felt real, and her soft groan sounded real, as she struggled to unbutton her shirt.  
  
“'s so _hot_ ,” she was murmuring to herself, eyes still closed. Well, no wonder. Sometime during the night she had wrapped herself up in his arms and legs. He stilled her arm with a hand around her wrist.  
  
“'Lizabeth, stop,” he said, watching her wriggle free and continue to unbutton. “You'll be sorry.”  
  
She did not stop, but continued until she reached the last button, and parted the sides, slipping her bare shoulders out and turning from side to side to escape the sleeves. Jack tried to keep his eyes on her face, her smooth skin, the fine curve of her jaw... the high, arched neck. His throat felt suddenly dry.  
  
Then, because she was stretching, seemingly unaware of him, he found his eyes dropping below her neck, seeing all the creamy flesh beneath, the slight curves of her breasts emerging just above several layers of wrapped cloth that served, he imagined, to bind her into some semblance of boyishness.  
  
He felt her wrists and fingertips at the back of his neck. “Jack,” she was sighing. “...was having a good dream about you.”  
  
“Were you, now?” He concluded she was still mostly asleep, and settled next to her again. “Does that happen often?”  
  
“All the time,” she said nonchalantly, eyes still closed, head turned to one side on the pillow.  
  
Jack could not contain his grin, considering how mortified she'd be if she knew what she was saying. “And what was I doing in this dream of yours?”  
  
“Hmmm... a bath,” she murmured, and clutched the pillow to her head again, becoming still.  
  
_A bath?_ Jack's brows furrowed as he regarded her quizzically. Did she mean... _him_ , or _her_? Or... “Elizabeth?”  
  
There was no response. His curiosity aroused - among other things - he lay back, only to stare uneasily at the ceiling for a few long minutes before drifting back into sleep.   
  
  
Soft and smooth, he thought as he slid his palms across her warm female flesh. Even her hair was soft as it brushed his shoulder, her cheek as it met his. Her jawline was smooth, rounded... he found the flesh of her belly and massaged it... still smooth and flat, too. Was he dreaming again....?  
  
A soft moan from her reminded him she was aware of him. Aware of his exploration of her body from behind. He opened his lips to taste the skin beneath her earlobe. Divine. His Elizabeth hadn't changed much at all, dream or not.  
  
At the touch of his tongue she sighed and arched against him, and he moved back to allow her to turn on her back. He pressed another kiss to her neck, nipping slightly with his teeth to feel the tautness of it. He was fairly certain he was awake, now. His imagination was good, but never as good as _this_...  
  
He had to taste more. More of her neck, her chest, down to those wrappings. He reached up with his fingers under her arms and curled them inside, tugging with all this might until the fabric slipped. His eyes opened wide. Her breasts were no new mother's, no overabundant mistress's, but delicate and pale and two of the most beautiful Jack had ever seen. He bent his head to press his tongue to one nipple, and was rewarded with her fingertips squeezing his shoulders, and another soft groan from deep in her throat.   
  
“God, Jack,” she was sighing through lips that barely moved.  
  
So she knew it was him. That was good. Wouldn't want her to think it was Will. He opened his mouth to taste her breast more fully, and she inhaled sharply, one hand coming up to rest on the crown on his head. He pulled back, slowly, until he just held her nipple between his teeth. Then he let that go, too.  
  
She opened her eyes. They were hazy with sleep and desire, and he relished the look of her, lips puffy and pink and lids heavy. He knew the moment she came fully awake, for she recoiled with a jerk and grasped the sheet beside her, yanking it almost up to her chin.  
  
“What do you think you're doing,” she demanded, indignant, her voice scratchy and raw.  
  
So much for that. “You need me to explain it to you?” he replied, propping himself on an elbow.   
  
“How dare you... remove my clothing while I slept!”  
  
“That you did yourself, darling,” he said, rolling onto his back with a sigh, concluding the romantic interlude was over.   
  
“Let me out of this bed at _once_ ,” she was saying while shifting about, pulling the sheet out from under him. “If you wished me to be groped against my will, you may as well have left me with the Spaniards!”  
  
His eyes narrowed and he went very still as she made a lot of commotion struggling out of the bed over top of him, since he had no intention of moving. But at the last moment he reached out and caught her, pulling her back onto him. She was still naked from the waist up, as he was, and he took a moment to appreciate the startlingly intimate feel of her against him as she fought against his grasp.  
  
“Now, let's get one thing straight. Nothing, _nothing_ , you've done with me has been against your will, and I won't have it said otherwise.”  
  
“Have you no decency? Let me _up_!” she insisted.   
  
“Stop thrashing like a caught trout, and I'll consider it,” he said in a menacingly soft whisper.   
  
A great exasperated sigh, and she simply glared at him from atop his chest.   
  
“Elizabeth,” he said quietly. “It's not going to do any good to fight it, you know. Better to just give in.”  
  
“Ha! You'd like that, wouldn't you?”  
  
“I'd like that _very much_ ,” he replied with a devilish grin. “And so would you. Trust me on that.”  
  
“Let me go,” she ground out through gritted teeth.  
  
He smiled a small smile. “One kiss.”  
  
“Absolutely not!”  
  
“Scared?”  
  
“Appalled!”  
  
“Is that so? Prove it.”  
  
“ _No_.”  
  
“Liar.”  
  
“Lecher!”  
  
“Coward.”  
  
With a grunt of total frustration, she pounded one fist against his chest, and with the other reached forward to grasp the braids of his beard, pulling his chin up. It hurt. But he only had a moment to think about that before she was kissing him, hard and fierce, nearly crushing his lips against his teeth, intentionally, he was sure. She drove her tongue into his mouth in a deliberate imitation of the bruising kiss he'd given her last night on the road, and she reached around to dig her nails into his nape, no doubt hoping to cause him pain there, as well. After a moment she tore her mouth away, leaving him only the sound of his blood pounding wildly through his ears. The look in her eyes was every bit as animated. The last shreds of his control were rapidly evaporating as he watched her pant and wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.   
  
“There,” she said. “Are you satisf-“ and in the next instant he had recaptured her open lips with his, snaked his arms around her back, and had turned her over in the bed, coming to rest on top of her as he obeyed the near-deafening clamor of his body to take her, now, _now_. Vaguely he was aware of her hands at his shoulders, nails digging in, at the same time she was pressing back against his mouth with her own, and he couldn't tell if she were fighting him or giving in. Either way, her response in his arms was making him harder than he'd ever felt.  
  
Just then, her nails left his shoulders to rake across his shoulder blades. He jerked back, breaking the kiss, startled to see her eyes were wide open, alarm in their warm depths.  
  
Fighting him, then. It should have dampened the heat in his blood, in his loins. It didn't.   
  
But he held still, breathing hard, waiting.   
  
“Please don't do this,” she breathed, and he noted she was nearly gasping for air even though he had relaxed his hold on her.  
  
He raised himself on his arms and knees so that he no longer rested upon her... she was free to move if she wished, if she thought about it. He bent forward to nuzzle her neck, whispering in her ear as he did so, fully intending to distract her from any thoughts of escape.   
  
“Why shouldn't I?” He pressed his parted lips and tongue against her skin, tasting her slowly, back and forth. He glanced up to see her eyes flutter closed again, her forehead wrinkled as she continued to resist. “We should have done this long ago, love. Could have given you your first taste of passion, on that island, perhaps...” He found her lips and made a miniature island of them, tracing a slow, careful path around their edges with the tip of his tongue. He drew back to watch as they parted, her tongue darting out to moisten them, her eyes still squeezed shut. “Or on the _Pearl_ , God rest her, should have stripped you naked, learned your every curve,” he murmured, lifting a hand to draw his knuckles along the ridge of her throat, from her chin to her clavicle, a gentle arc, noble as a ship's hull. He could feel her breathing quicken with every stroke of his hand. “Or last evening, if I'd taken you under those trees in the dark, by the road...” His hand wove a path from her throat down between her breasts, ringed fingers spread, his hand almost spanning the distance between the petal-pink tips.   
  
A tiny, frustrated groan escaped her lips. She wanted to give in, he knew it...  
  
“Come now, Elizabeth,” he purred against her ear, reaching up with both hands to cover her breasts lightly... not enough to satisfy, just to tease her into capitulation. “You know it's only a matter of time.”  
  
He kissed her again, then. Skillfully this time, coaxing her lips apart with gentle flicks of tongue and he felt her arch up against him with another helpless groan, still delicately feminine in pitch but more wanton than before, and then she was kissing him back, responding to his rhythm with an urgency of her own. He felt her palm against his chest, and he was being pushed up and backward, all the while she leaned forward, still kissing him hungrily.   
  
But when he found himself sitting up, she gradually separated her lips from his until they were just brushing, and he heard her whisper, “If it's a matter of time, Jack... that time is past.”  
  
Before he knew it, she had extracted herself from his arms and left the bed, grabbing up her shirt as she did so. In another moment she had donned her boots and finished the buttons, and he watched with narrowed eyes as she avoided his gaze, and walked toward the cabin door as quickly as possible.   
  
“We'll see about that,” he said as the door slammed shut.  
  
  
* * *  
  
_A matter of time_ , Elizabeth thought as she watched the sun set that evening, her hopes sinking along with it.   
  
Time. The four days that had now passed with no sign of Will, worrying her, multiplying the possibilities in her anxious mind... _shipwreck, pirates, mutiny, storm.._.   
  
She had watched the horizon practically the entire day from the deck of the ship, except when the midday heat proved too much and she found a spot of shade to pass the hours. Jack had not spoken to her, but had instructed the crew to be on the constant lookout for the _Pegasus_. He also told them - loud enough for her to hear, as she was sure was his intention - to be on the lookout for _her_ , should she decide to disembark and head for town to try and collect that reward after all.   
  
And time... the five years that had passed in which her life had taken an unexpected course, and the years before that, and the few days she'd spent around Jack, and the night she'd spent alone with Jack when she was too innocent to know what to do with it, and the hours it had been since she'd been furious with him that morning. She closed her eyes. Thirteen. And a half.  
  
And the minutes, or seconds it would have taken, this very morning, for her to lose all sense of everything and abandon herself to him completely... perhaps ten. Or five... or one single second more in his presence, tasting him, smelling him, feeling him.  
  
She had been hoping Will would come, and she wouldn't be facing another night with Jack. She couldn't, not now. Not in his cabin. Not in his bed. Not anywhere within sight or reach of him - off the ship altogether. Which meant she needed to find another place to sleep, and for that she would need some coin. She would go and ask Jack for money. That she could beg him for without too much loss of pride.   
  
She turned and scanned the deck, looking for his tall form standing proudly at the helm. He wasn't there. She'd noticed out of the corner of her eye a constant parade of crewmen carrying things - buckets? - from below up to deck and then returning, grumbling about the captain's orders, and she hadn't paid much mind since she was _ignoring_ the captain with all of her might, and cross with him for his audacity this morning. But now she needed him - for one last thing, just some coins for a room in town - and perhaps a whole pair of breeches, since hers were immodestly ripped. Not that it mattered, since her every pore and follicle felt caked with dirt and she was certain she smelled like a pirate ship.  
  
He didn't seem to be anywhere she looked. She was about to cross the deck to knock on his cabin door - though she was loath to enter, given what had occurred there far too recently - and she spied Pintel and Ragetti exiting, empty buckets swinging. What on earth were they _doing_?  
  
“Looking for someone?” drawled a smooth tenor voice, and Elizabeth turned to find Jack behind her, leaning amiably on the rail. The sun was setting behind his head, casting golden rays outward in a halo, and Elizabeth nearly laughed at the incongruity. He was smiling, his lower lip protruding just a bit more than his upper - that full lower lip that always felt so delicious between hers - and his kohl-lined eyes were warm and still upon her. He was not handsome, she thought, not in any traditional sense. Too strange, too exotic. So what caused this effect he seemed to have on her? She took a deep breath, reminding herself that she was doing what was best.  
  
“Looking for money, actually,” she responded, warily assessing his confident, mischievous expression.   
  
“For?”  
  
“A room in town. It's not proper for me to stay here.”  
  
There was a moment of silence that held the weight of that statement. _I don't trust myself to be near you_.  
  
One brow lifted. “More proper to be dressed like a lad, and bedding down at some tavern with soldiers and sailors?”  
  
“Certainly safer,” she replied.  
  
Jack scoffed. “Oh, come now. What have you to fear from me, hm? What is it you want?”  
  
“To sleep _alone_.”  
  
Jack grinned, broadly, and stood up from the rail, closing the short distance between them in three swaggering strides. “Is that all?”  
  
“Why...” She swallowed. “Yes. But it's absolutely necessary.”  
  
“No need for a room. You have my word - tonight, you shall sleep alone.”  
  
She was stunned, and suspicious that he'd give up so easily. “You - you _promise_? I may have the bed? To myself?”  
  
“Why don't we continue this discussion in my cabin,” he stated rather than asked, grasping her shoulders to turn her and steer her in that direction. “There's something I want to show you.”  
  
She dug in her heels and resisted. “Jack, I hardly think - “  
  
“Shhh, sh, sh. Just come in for a moment, and then you can say or do anything you like.”   
  
She sighed and reluctantly allowed herself to be guided to his door, where he let go of her shoulders and opened it. She walked into the darkness, and he followed. She could see little of anything because the twilight was rapidly fading. She heard Jack's footfalls and then a candle flame flared. A second.  
  
She regarded his back as he finished lighting a number of candles and turned to her. “All right, Jack, what is it that you wanted to show me?”  
  
He did not answer, but smiled and flicked his eyes to the right. She followed his gaze.  
  
There, in the middle of the floor, sat a large wooden tub. She frowned at it, confused at its presence, as she remembered seeing ones like it in the cargo hold. It had handles on the sides and was probably used to store feed for livestock or dry foods or some such. She was about to ask what it was doing there, when she noticed the faint wisps of steam emerging from the top.  
  
“A _bath_!” she gasped, and found herself pressing the heels of her palms to her cheeks as her eyes watered in appreciation. “But where did all that water _come_ from?”  
  
“Still costly, but at least available, while in port,” Jack said, folding his arms casually across his chest. Then the grin returned. “Don't you want to get in?”  
  
She did want to - post haste. But she was wary. It was the one thing that could have kept her aboard tonight, and she was a bit curious as to how he'd guessed that... well, other than her slovenly appearance and unpleasant smell. And there was something else, something at the back of her mind, about Jack and hot water... a memory? No. A dream. The bath was a rare treat indeed, one she'd be a fool to give up, but what would it cost her?  
  
She eyed him, up and down. “I know how you work. What do you want in exchange?”  
  
He spread his fingers apart over his sternum, sticking out his lower lip. “Elizabeth, I'm wounded. Can't a gentleman offer a lady a gift without-“  
  
“Oh, stuff it,” she told him, marching up to him. She began to loosen the leather cord that bound her hair. “I'm getting in the bath. I just wanted to know the price.”  
  
Jack's lids lowered. “Price? Oh, hardly a price. Just a trifle.”  
  
“Which is?” The steam seemed to be calling her name. She began to work at the buttons of her shirt, not caring that his eyes fell immediately to her fingers. After all, he'd seen her this morning, and the hot water was waiting.  
  
“I get to remain while you take it,” he breathed, seemingly transfixed by her rapidly moving hands.  
  
“That's your _only_ condition?”  
  
The last of the buttons fell open. She rested her fists on her hips.   
  
“Yes,” he told her midsection.  
  
“Fine,” she replied, and shrugged out of the shirt. She tossed it aside.   
  
Secretly she relished the way he was looking at her, the way his eyes kept flicking upward and then falling back down, and she admired him a little - just a little - for the valiant effort. “Take off your hat,” she ordered. “And your scarf.”  
  
All of his teeth showed, gold and not, as he smiled and reached for his hat, tossing it over onto the bed with a well-aimed throw. “Well, my dear,” he murmured. “I must say, this was easier than expected - but don't you want to try the water by yourself, first?”  
  
He reached back to untie the scarf, hastily, and she drew up closer, feeling suddenly drunk on her own power, a flash of what she'd felt on the _Pearl_ , when she first learned she possessed the ability to seduce. His hands were in back of his head as she whispered, slowly, almost against his chin, “Just... hurry.”  
  
The scarf fell away, and he reached for her in the same moment that she caught the scarf, and lifted her hands to stretch it across his eyes.  
  
“What - what are you doing?” he asked, his hands resting on her bare sides.  
  
In another second she had tied it tightly behind his head and stepped out of his grasp. “Protecting my modesty, of course,” she said coolly, as if commenting on the weather. “You said you wanted to remain. Fortunately, you didn't specify anything further. Now,” she continued, leaning down to draw the knife from her right boot and making a tight fist with her other hand, and then holding both right in front of his face, “how many fingers do you see?”  
  
Jack's smile faded to a pout, and then folded into a frustrated line. “One, and I must say, it's not a very suitable gesture for a lady, Lizzy.”  
  
She smiled. “Excellent.” Just to make sure, she drew her fist back as though she were about to strike him, and watched to make sure he didn't flinch. He stood calmly.  
  
For a moment, she considered the possibility of taking advantage of his vulnerability. She could very well strike him - with her fist or something else - until he was knocked out, and then she could sneak off the ship, to return with a few soldiers before anyone would be the wiser. That reward... and it wasn't as if she and Jack were friends, as if they'd ever been _friends_ , even when they'd been... friendly. A trial would end with a hanging, no doubt, but he'd gotten himself out of tight spots before. She debated for a few seconds, imagining a soft, fresh bed at an inn, a good meal, some nice clothes for when Will arrived. She weighed those against the sight of Jack in irons, and how outraged he'd be, and on top of all of that, if she knocked him out and turned him over to the authorities, she wouldn't end up in his bed but she _also_ wouldn't get to take her bath... she straightened and returned her hand to her side.  
  
“All right,” she said, bending to remove her boots and drop the knife back inside. “Now go lie on the bed, and leave me in peace. You may entertain me with a story while I bathe.”  
  
“That is _not_ the entertainment I imagined,” he retorted.  
  
“I'm sure it wasn't,” she said amicably as she shed her boots and breeches, leaving only her undergarments and wrappings. She turned and walked closer to the tub, glancing to see if Jack's head turned toward her. It didn't. “On the bed, now, Jack,” she quietly commanded.  
  
“Thought you'd never ask,” he said bitterly, turning in a wide circle, an arm outstretched. “A bargain is a bargain, but d'ya think you could hand me the rum before you climb in there?”  
  
She tested the water with two fingers. Hot. Heavenly. Her spirits were lightened considerably. “Rum? All right.” She finished loosening and shedding her wrappings before strolling to the table and picking up the half-empty bottle that sat there. She walked toward him again. “Here,” she said, holding it out a foot in front of her, close to Jack's ringed hand.  
  
His hand reached out and clutched empty air to her right.  
  
“ _Here_ , Jack,” she repeated.  
  
His palm moved hesitantly forward again, overshooting the bottle and landing on her breast. He clung and cupped it, brushing his thumb over her nipple. She drew in her breath as he smiled naughtily, murmuring, “Now, that's not the rum.”  
  
She lifted her chin, glad he couldn't see her cheeks reddening. His thumb made lazy circles around her nipple, and it itched and tickled pleasantly... and when he spread out his hand and lifted her breast in it, she bit her lip to keep from making any noise. Then she composed herself and forced the bottle into his groping hand, backing away.  
  
She kept her eyes on him as she eased her steps backward to the tub, making sure he stood still. When she reached the tub, she inserted her thumbs into her thin undergarment. “Jack, lying down, if you please?” she said.   
  
She still wasn't certain that he couldn't see anything. She lowered the material an inch.   
  
“Actually, it pleases me standing up, too,” he replied, smiling, but then turned and ambled toward the bed. She dropped her undergarments to the floor.  
  
“Bugger!”   
  
The chair smacked into the table as Jack tripped against it. Elizabeth watched as he righted himself, and finally made it to the bed. She stepped out of her puddle of clothes and placed one foot, then the other, into the tub.  
  
“Oh, _God_ ,” she sighed, sinking into the hot water gratefully. She caught her breath at the feeling of the steamy water enveloping her, even between her toes, behind her bent knees, deep between her thighs. The rough wood scraped her soles and bottom, but even that could not detract from the extraordinary sensual delight. Heat scalded her skin everywhere at once, easing all of her tension, melting away the grime and ugliness. “God in heaven...” she heard herself saying, “...nothing on earth could ever feel this good, ever.”  
  
“Elizabeth, you're breaking my heart,” came a plaintive voice from the bed.


	4. Something to Tell

4\. Something to Tell  
  
  
“I do apologize about that, Jack,” she said in a pleasant murmur, leaning her head back against the edge of the tub. It was more fun to tease him, now, knowing he was across the room and unable to take any physical advantages. “Now, since you've been generous so far, what about that story?”  
  
She heard him rolling and shifting, and glanced up to see him propped on an elbow on his side, facing her. The scarf still covered the top half of his face, and she could only see his mouth as his lips formed the words. “Since _I'm_ the one lying here helpless in the dark, I rather think _you_ ought to entertain _me_ with a tale. Something exciting. Perhaps with a nice chase on horseback?”  
  
“Hm, no... I can't even think properly at the moment,” she sighed, closing her eyes again.  
  
“Now, that, I do like to hear.”   
  
She flicked her eyelids open only for a second to see the rakish grin spreading across his face. “Jack, the story?”  
  
“You tell me one. Something easy. How about... your first time?” His words ended on a deep, smooth note.  
  
She felt her cheeks grow warmer, although it might have been the effects of the steam. “You know very well I won't tell you about that.”  
  
“Whyever not?”  
  
“It's not suitable, and you know it.”  
  
“What's unsuitable about it? Seems rather innocent to me... the young Elizabeth upon her first pony. Unless there's something else to the story that renders it unsuitable... in which case I insist you tell me _immediately_.”  
  
Elizabeth furrowed her brows. So he'd meant... her first time on a horse? She'd certainly spent too much time around Jack if she were detecting lechery in even ordinary conversation. “My first time... riding a horse?”  
  
“Yes. Although if you don't hurry, I may lose patience and have to climb in there to urge you along.”  
  
“You'll do no such thing,” she tried to chide him, but in her current state of relaxation it came out as good-natured teasing. “All right. The first time I ever rode a horse. Let me see... hm, I believe it was at my uncle's.”  
  
“A cruel, ill-willed uncle?”  
  
“No. My father's brother. He doted on me as a little girl - I was quite sad when he died.”  
  
“The horse? An evil horse?”  
  
“No! Well - it had snowed.” She paused, thinking. “Have you ever seen snow, Jack?”  
  
“A bit here and there. Prefer warm places, generally.” Amusement seeped into his low, mischievous tone. “For example...”  
  
“So the morning after it snowed, my mother brought me outside - we were staying at my uncle's for Christmas, out in the country quite a ways from London - and everything was quiet and white and magical... just a moment.”  
  
She slid down to immerse her head, feeling the warm water reach her scalp and ears, closing her eyes and exhaling before re-emerging from the water. She could swear she heard Jack shift about on the bed again.  
  
“And my uncle had been out earlier that morning, and he came along and saw us and dismounted to talk to my mother, who laughed and didn't watch me. I was so interested in that horse. A gray stallion. I think I was about eight. I strolled over and petted his nose, and my uncle and mother were talking to each other, and so I decided to climb on top.”  
  
“That's a good girl,” Jack commented from the bed.  
  
“Well - I had no idea what I was doing. There was no sidesaddle and I hadn't been taught the least thing about riding, yet, so I just imitated what I saw my uncle do, skirt and all. It took me a minute or two, but I climbed on.”  
  
“Lovely.”  
  
“Right -well the horse was spooked, since he didn't know me, and he probably thought'Who is this tiny, funny-shaped creature?' and he tried to throw me off. But I held on. The horse didn't like that either, and before I knew it he'd taken off at a gallop. And off we went.”  
  
“Leaving Mother and dear Uncle behind?”  
  
“I looked back, scared, and saw them running after, but they couldn't keep up for long, of course. I clung tighter to the horse and reins, which of course made him go faster, not that I knew that at the time - and we were tearing down the road. It was... I was terrified and thrilled at the same time.” She laughed, remembering, and her voice became soft and full of excitement. “It felt like flying. It was marvelous.”  
  
“And how did you stop?”  
  
“After a few minutes, the horse reached the fence where my uncle usually turned him to go back. He sort of slowed down and pranced around, waiting for me to guide him, which, of course, I'd no idea how to do. In another moment he'd bucked and thrown me off into the snow.”  
  
“Pity. Injuries?”  
  
She closed her eyes, swallowing. “Only my pride.”  
  
“What a little girl you must have been,” Jack mused, sitting up and drawing his legs beneath him. She instinctively shrank farther down into the tub, reminding herself he couldn't see. “A vision, bouncing along on that great horse, hair flying behind you.”  
  
She smiled in spite of herself. “I wouldn't know what I looked like, but I certainly enjoyed myself - from that point onward, the gray stallion - Stormcloud, I called him - he and I were inseparable.” She grew pensive again. “Until, of course, my mother died and my father and I left for Port Royal.”  
  
“Never fear, Elizabeth... should I know or produce any little girls in the future - “ Jack paused, as though estimating the possibility. “-unlikely as it may be - I'll make sure she has her own pony. No, better - a Paso Fino. Eh?”  
  
”Stolen?” Elizabeth kept her voice light, unable to resist the jibe.  
  
“Naturally not,” Jack retorted, as though the idea were his own brand of blasphemy. “One of the benefits of stealing money is to _buy_ other things. It's very simple.”  
  
There was a moment of silence while Elizabeth's mind wandered, and Jack seemed to think over their last exchange. “Elizabeth - have you been married five years, now?  
  
She resisted the tension that crept into her limbs, fearing the direction he was heading. “About that, yes.”  
  
“Then certainly - you must have children, by this time?”  
  
She stared into the water, its depths murky in the candlelit room. “No,” she answered, keeping her voice as even as possible.  
  
A pause.  
  
“No?” Jack sounded surprised. “None at all? How's that possible? Don't tell me,” and his tone suddenly became mischievous and daring. “our dear Will - “  
  
“It's not Will. Will is fine. I don't want to discuss it.”  
  
“Oh, come now. Every so often in the last day or so I wondered - what is she doing sailing around with her husband instead of raising the brood? Enlighten me.”  
  
“I can't, really. We haven't any children yet, is all.”  
  
Another silence, and Elizabeth realized Jack was getting up from the bed. “Stay over there,” she warned.  
  
“Don't be ridiculous.” Jack slowly approached the tub, still blindfolded, without tripping over any obstacles. He stood a few feet away, folding his arms. “Must I educate you as to the science of reproduction?”  
  
“No, thank you,” she said through her nearly-clenched front teeth. “Let's talk about something else.”  
  
“You know, if you're this frosty with Will, it's no wonder you haven't any children.”  
  
She scoffed and submerged her head again, not caring what anyone might say about her catching her death of cold from a wet head, feeling only the warmth of the water and the silence it brought. When she rose again, she saw Jack closer than ever, his arms looped over the edge of the tub as he knelt beside it.  
  
“I'll ask you to keep a decent distance,” she said indignantly, wiping water from her face with one hand.  
  
“And I'll ask you not to beat around the bush. Out with it: what's not working properly? His or yours?”  
  
“You leave him alone!”  
  
“Yours, then.”  
  
She lashed out with a hand and splashed him, hard, right in the face. He barely flinched, but reached out and latched onto her slippery wrist with surprising accuracy. She turned furious eyes on him. “You're being vulgar, and let go of me at _once_.”  
  
“I'll let go when you tell me the truth.”  
  
“It's none of your concern!”  
  
“Ah, but once I'm curious, I'm virtually unstoppable,” he said, smiling, still maintaining his grip on her wrist. Then the smile faded. “Tell me. Are you ill? Is he?”  
  
“No,” she sighed, exasperated, finally shaking off his fingers and shifting back, away from where he leaned in. “No. There's nothing to tell.”  
  
“Oh, there's always _something_ to tell. Even if it's in the silence.”  
  
There was silence, then, between them, while Elizabeth's eyes moved back and forth over the bath water. Jack waited, unmoving. Finally, she spoke again, quietly. “I really meant there's nothing. I'm not... I never, well, got with child, and... the doctor said I'm... that I can't _have_ children, and that's that.”  
  
“He examined you? Saw something wrong?”  
  
“No... no, just that everything else was as expected, and Will and I healthy as could be, more or less, and so the only conclusion was that I'm... barren, as they say. So you see,” and she gave a small laugh, one that lacked mirth entirely, before raising her eyes to Jack again. “Not such a good breeder after all.”  
  
“Hm,” Jack said, and pushed on the edge to stand up, turning around toward the bed again. He found the bottle of rum fairly easily, uncorked it, and swigged. “So you and Will set off to sea together, unburdened by caring for little ones?”  
  
“Yes.” She took a deep breath, and let it out, slowly. “It's all for the best, I suppose. A ship's no place for a child. And we have a great deal of fun out on the water.” _Usually. When he's not missing...  
  
_ “Did he say why?”  
  
Elizabeth watched as Jack wiped a few drops of rum from his lip with the back of his hand. “Why... what?”  
  
“This 'doctor.' Did he say why you couldn't bear children?”  
  
“Oh.” She lifted a foot out of the water, rested it against the edge of the tub. She studied it thoughtfully. “No... he said it could have been anything. A reaction to a childhood illness, or something my mother passed on, or... even that fall from the horse, years ago.”  
  
Jack snorted. “Ridiculous. I don't suppose he considered your husband?”  
  
Elizabeth turned to stare skeptically at him, even though she knew he couldn't see. “Why should he? Even with everything in fine working order, Will can hardly be expected to carry the babe himself, can he?”  
  
“Although that _would_ be interesting,” Jack answered, scratching his goatee with one calloused finger. “So you've tried everything?”  
  
Elizabeth blinked. “What we've _tried_ or not is none of your business.” Jack grinned. In a moment he was striding back toward the tub. She placed her foot back in the water and scooted toward the other side. “I'll remind you to keep your distance.”  
  
But he ignored her - not surprisingly- and was suddenly leaning over the edge of the tub, on his knees, extending a hand to 'see' where she was. The hand reached her shoulder, and he pulled her toward him, the water splashing forward and back.  
  
“Tell me, Lizzie,” he whispered, one side of his mouth pulled up in a saucy smirk, “what haven't you tried, hm? You've gotten your chance to ride, as it were?” Her eyes closed as she felt her cheeks burning, wanting to silence him, but nothing sprang to her lips. “Such a curious girl, I'm sure you've explored quite a bit. Perhaps -“ and his other hand came to her other shoulder, bringing her forward in front of him. Too close. She felt his breath on her lips and chin as he spoke. “- I should examine you and make sure our good doctor didn't miss anything, eh?”   
  
His palms slid across her shoulders, came to rest on her neck. She held her breath and tried to remain still. He was pulling her in to kiss her... then stopped, as though suddenly struck by a new idea. “Now - I wonder, if one truly wants to breed, perhaps one should do as the horses do.”  
  
When his words sank in, she lifted both arms to knock away his hands, splashing him and moving backwards. “You're disgusting.”  
  
“Ever tried it?”  
  
She told herself not to answer, steadied her breathing while she attempted to control her curiosity... “Tried... what?”  
  
The grin on Jack's face returned. “Get out of there, and I'll be happy to show you.”  
  
“You _wish_ ,” she snapped, watching him warily.  
  
“Give me your hand,” he said, and it wasn't a request. She found herself extending her left arm to meet his right. He snatched it up and laced their fingers together, firmly, pulling also so that she slid back to his side of the tub. Their faces were close again. “Instead of like this...” He rocked the heel of his palm against hers, to leave no doubt about what he meant, all the while whispering the words only inches from her lips, before pulling her hand across her body so that her shoulders turned and she found herself sitting with her back to Jack. His palm met the back of her hand, and pressed firmly as he wrapped his fingers between hers. He nudged her wet hair aside with his nose and brushed his lips down her neck. “... like this. See, darling?”  
  
Oh. _Oh_. She did see. And the thought of it made her chest feel sort of tight inside, like she couldn't quite breathe all the way in or out, but all she said as she leaned her dripping head back against his shoulder was, “Don't call me 'darling.'”  
  
He chuckled against her ear. She ought to push him away...  
  
“Let's see, you've objections to 'love' and 'darling'... what shall I call you, sweetheart?”  
  
“Not that _either_.”  
  
“Wench?”  
  
“Jack... let me go. Now.”  
  
“Yes, 'wench' fits. I can think of a few others.”  
  
“I can think of a few things to call _you_ , too, but they won't be terms of endearment,” she replied, but heard her voice go breathy and catch on the last word, just as he decided to suck a bit of skin against his teeth, stirring warmth deep within her that had nothing to do with the bath. “Jack...” she nearly groaned.  
  
“Jack'll do jus' fine,” he said in a low, gravelly voice against her neck. “'Specially when you say it like _that_...”  
  
Compose yourself, she told herself firmly, as Jack's words seemed to travel under her skin, sending shivers through her. He was running the tip of his tongue along her lobe, now, and then down over her neck, so lightly, picking up drops of water as he went.   
  
“You're shivering,” he soon hissed in her ear.  
  
She made a greater effort to be still, even as her hands and legs continued to tremble. “I've been in the water too long. Why don't you... go and get me something to dry off and be warm?” Though if she were any warmer, she might combust.  
  
“'Fraid all I have is these old bedclothes,” he said, still moving his lips against her ear. “But the warming up, I can take care of myself.”  
  
“No...” she protested as he reached into the tub, sleeves and all, and caught her underneath the knees, pulling her toward him. “Really, I... Jack, don't...” But he had already gotten his arm around her back and was lifting her, dripping, from the water and pulling her against his chest.  
  
She was naked in his arms. At least he couldn't see, she reminded herself, but he _knew_ she was naked... she wished she'd run the opposite direction from his cabin, earlier, but it was too late now. Her weight rested against his torso, soaking his shirt and breeches, as he carried her, far too easily, over to the bed.  
  
The heat and hot water had done its work, and she found her limbs soft and devoid of any resistance whatsoever... she hung on around his neck, all the while murmuring protests. Then she felt the rough fabric of the blanket beneath her, and then Jack was pulling it around her, and lowering his lips toward her...  
  
Just this once, she told herself. Just this once I'll let him kiss me, and I'll kiss him and that'll be the end of it. She may have lifted her face toward him, though she wasn't entirely aware of anything that was happening.  
  
He kissed her. It was lazy and slow and even a little tender, and she quickly grew frustrated, wishing more for the kiss of last night or even this morning. He wasn't so bad, after all, she thought. He'd been kind to her and he was, at the heart of it, a good man. She wound a hand through his hair, feeling the thick black strands resist her fingers. She must have pulled him closer, because suddenly the kiss was deep and fiery and everything she'd been secretly longing for. Jack had his hands on the sides of her face and was kissing the life out of her.   
  
Just as suddenly he was pulling away, and she made a noise in her throat that spoke to exactly how much she wanted him, against her better judgment, against everything.   
  
“My turn,” he breathed, standing up slowly.  
  
“Your turn... for what?” she said in a deep, drowsy voice she hardly recognized.  
  
He chuckled, and she saw he was unfastening the buttons of his now-wet shirt. “A bath, of course. Although - “ he reached out and lifted a corner of the blanket he'd wrapped her in, tilting his head - “I'm tempted to forego it, since you do look absolutely delectable...”  
  
The compliment served to quicken her heartbeat as she watched him undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt. When he bent to pull off his boots, her eyes fell on the bandanna he still wore over his eyes, and she went very still. She considered his recent words...  
  
“You can _see_ ,” she growled at him, and reached up to snatch the scarf from his head. She peered through it. It was worn so thin that very little was disguised by it.  
  
He tried to look innocent. “Course not, I only meant...”  
  
“You can see! You could see the whole _time_ , you _liar_!” She leapt up, clutching the blanket around her. “How _dare_ you!” He turned away, and shed his shirt, dropping it on the floor. She moved to follow him, still holding the blanket, her wet hair leaving rivulets down her chest and stomach. “Oh, so now you're just going to ignore me, forget what you've done? How like you.”  
  
He stopped, in the middle of the room, his back to her. And she ceased her pursuit, too, suddenly captivated by the sight of his bare back. His skin was tanned, and a few scar lines crossed it here and there, like rivers over gentle peaks and valleys of muscle, before disappearing beneath the length of his hair. She curled her hands into fists to keep from reaching out to feel him.   
  
She wondered how he would humiliate her next.  
  
“I ought to turn you in for that reward,” she said, snatching up her clothes from the floor. “Immediately. Particularly since I can't trust your word about the simplest thing, which means I can hardly trust you about the sleeping arrangements.”  
  
He turned back toward her, then, and she saw his eyes glittering; whether it was with amusement or anger, she couldn't tell, perhaps both? But she didn't look too long, because her eyes dropped and she realized what he'd been doing with his back to her: unfastening his breeches. A black vee of hair seemed to point downward from his stomach, which was flat, but not pale and ridged with muscle like Will's, and she stared helplessly at that dark arrow that disappeared between the parted folds of his breeches as it seemed to point her way to damnation.  
  
Her mouth went dry. The clothes fell from her hand.  
  
He was strolling toward her, again. “Listen, darling,” he said in a menacingly smooth voice, “no need to twist up your knickers - not that you're wearing any, at the moment. So I had myself a look. Very well. Let's trade, shall we?”  
  
Standing next to the tub, he stopped, and with a careless motion of both arms, dropped his breeches to the floor. He stepped out of them, kicking them aside.   
  
A horrified protest sprang to her lips, but was immediately forgotten. Strong thighs dotted with dark hair swelled from slim hips, slimmer than she'd thought under his loose-fitting clothes, and between them... if his hair had guided her south, that part of him was steering her gaze north again, and she dragged her eyes upward and away from his nakedness. Not before the sight was burned onto her retina, _nothing like Will_ , no, no. Dark and hair and power. Nothing apologetic, nothing subtle or smooth.  
  
When her eyes reached his face, he was smiling, but it was a wicked smile, a cruel smile. “Take a good look - remember this,” he taunted in a whisper, “when you've gone back to Will and everything's perfectly _ordinary_.”  
  
Her mouth hung open in shock. The _nerve_ of him to have watched her, to violate her trust, to even _talk_ about Will, after everything... She didn't even realize she was charging toward him until she felt the firm warmth of his chest underneath her palms, and she was giving him a mighty shove, knocking him backward. She was so enraged she didn't notice he was losing his balance, and catching hold of her arms as he fell, backward, into the tub.  
  
She was pulled with him. In a moment, she was in the water, or what was left of it, as great waves sloshed over the side and onto the floor. She landed astride him as he struggled to raise his head above the surface, and she briefly considered holding it under until he choked. But she elected instead to use her hands to grip the sides, pulling herself up so that she was still sitting, but not lying, on top of him.  
  
His dark head emerged from the water. He shook his head once, quickly, water flying from beads and locks, as he took a deep breath. His eyes opened wide, taking in her presence. The wicked smile was back.  
  
“If you wanted to join me, you need only have asked,” he remarked, reaching out to grasp her hips, and pull her toward him under the water, settling her on his lap.  
  
With a jolt she realized that he was naked, and she was naked - the blanket had fallen when she'd pushed him - and all that stood between her and coupling with Jack Sparrow was an inch or so of water. Not exactly a castle wall... at most, a meager moat.  
  



	5. The Vulgar Tongue

  
5\. The Vulgar Tongue  
  
She met his burning gaze. He'd realized it too, she saw. Why, he was probably thinking he could reach out and lift her and then bring her down upon him, and he'd slip inside her easily, as her body had given up resisting minutes ago - _hours, days, years?_ \- and it was only her mind that told her, firmly, that she must get control.   
  
She loved Will. She and Will had a life together. In a few days, she'd forget about Jack Sparrow.  
  
_Liar_ , her traitorous body responded, causing her to move slightly against him, warm frissons of pleasure rising like steam from where they touched. _You'll never be free of him_.  
  
His hands were creeping up her sides, now, beneath the water, dangerously close to her breasts... she jerked back.  
  
“Take your hands off me,” she demanded with a surprising air of confidence.  
  
Jack glared at her, running his tongue briefly over his front teeth, his hands coming to a halt. “Would you rather take it from here? Be my guest.” He pulled his hands away and folded them behind his wet head, wiry muscles undulating in his chest and arms.  
  
She was actually surprised that he had done as she asked, and she sat back on his firm thighs, unsure what to do next. _Get out_ , her brain screamed at her.   
  
She reluctantly obeyed, leaning on her knees and slowly getting to her feet to step out. It brought the juncture of her thighs to Jack's eye level, but he only stared for a few seconds before she stepped one foot out, followed by the other.  
  
She could feel his eyes on her. How could she not have felt it before... he was watching her walk, nude, the few steps to where the blanket lay, watching as she picked it up and wrapped it, already damp, around her. He still watched as she walked toward the bed, sat down, curled up to afford herself the most modesty possible. She looked back at him as he sat in the bath, the dark hair on his chest clinging to his sopping skin. She'd never been nude with Will while wet. What would it be like? She closed her eyes when she realized she was imagining how Jack's moist skin would feel against her tongue.   
  
She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the naughty thoughts. Perhaps having her eyes closed would be better, for then she wouldn't _see_ him right in front of her. She would picture her husband, instead. Will, on deck, stopping mid-hoist to send a smile her way. Will, finely chiseled and firm beneath her fingers, warm atop her in their bed. Will, wrapping his arms around her in the night.  
  
“Elizabeth.”  
  
She didn't answer. Talking to him was trouble.  
  
“ _Elizabeth_.”  
  
She pulled the blanket around her, wrapping it tight despite the warmth of the night, and rested her head on the pillow.  
  
“Don't go to sleep. I need you to entertain me while I'm in here.”  
  
“Ha,” she said. “Entertain _yourself_.”  
  
“Don't you want to watch?”   
  
Her eyes snapped open in surprise, only to see his hands still folded behind his head, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.   
  
“So you _do_ want to watch.”  
  
She sighed in frustration. “I don't want to watch you _perform_ anything, if that's what you mean.” She had to get him talking, distract him from trying to seduce her. “But - I wouldn't mind listening to that story you promised? How about your first time on a horse?”  
  
“My first ride, ever?”  
  
She glared at him down the length of her nose. “Something innocent.”  
  
“Hm...” Jack stroked his beard thoughtfully, shifting in the water. “I'm afraid my past doesn't fit that request. It'll have to be something else.”  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“The story of a man... who rode a horse?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Sir Lancelot.”  
  
Elizabeth scoffed. “Oh, wonderful. A tale of adulterous love. Hardly innocent.”  
  
“Oh, it's just a _story_ ,” Jack argued. “More about power and politics than _love_. Harmless.”  
  
“Tell that to Francesca,” Elizabeth murmured more to herself and the pillow.   
  
“Who?”  
  
“Francesca,” Elizabeth repeated, a bit louder. “Francesca and Paolo? I read about them years ago. They're in Hell.”  
  
“Says who?”  
  
“Dante. An Italian poet.”  
  
“Ah,” Jack said, shifting his body farther down into the water, using his hands to begin to scrub some of the grime from his arms. “Hm, Dante. The one who went to Hell, isn't he? And he came back. One of the many things we'd have in common.”  
  
“ _You_ and Dante?” Elizabeth snorted. “He was a poet, of great faith and esteem! A great man. A man of God. He managed to transform a vulgar tongue - his own language, from Florence, into something beautiful.”  
  
Jack lifted a brow, still rubbing his arms with his wet palms. “If I recall, they booted him out of Florence, didn't they?”  
  
“Well... yes. But only because he fell out of favor with the Pope. He found himself on the wrong side of the law, is all.”  
  
Jack stopped rubbing his arms, looked up at her. “Happens to the best of us.”  
  
“And Dante - “ Elizabeth sat up, still holding the blanket around her. “He believed in God. He knew right from wrong.” A scathing glance at Jack. “He loved one woman his entire life, and Beatrice died at twenty-four! _That's_ nobility.”  
  
Jack blinked at her. “He loved a dead woman?”  
  
“Well, she wasn't dead when he _met_ her.”  
  
“Never married anyone else?”  
  
Elizabeth was silent, her lips open as she tried to form an answer.  
  
“Well, did he?”  
  
She furrowed her brows. “I believe he was married to someone else. But that's not the point.”  
  
Jack pointed a finger at her. “I _will_ remember your saying that.”  
  
Elizabeth exhaled. “I wouldn't expect you to understand. He loved her purely. Completely, even though he'd only met her twice. He swore to praise her in verse like no other woman had ever been praised. He spent his entire life writing the Divine Comedy in honor of _her_. She was everything to him - he believed she was... light, Heaven... life. That she was... perfect.”  
  
“That's because he was never married to her,” Jack retorted. “All right - regardless of Dante's complete idiocy in loving some fair maiden he could never have - is there a _story_ in there?”  
  
“Yes. The two lovers he meets in Hell - in the circle of the Lustful. Paolo and Francesca.”  
  
“Lust sounds interesting. Do tell.”  
  
Elizabeth eyed him. “I don't think you're going to like this story,” she warned.  
  
“Never fear, love, if I grow bored, I'll... entertain myself.” She heard a soft splash as Jack's hand fell below the waterline.  
  
Elizabeth took a deep breath, willing herself not to think about Jack in the water, about what he might be doing. “Well... as I remember it... he wrote that love is dangerous,” she began. “Love is powerful, and relentless, and can even lead to death.”  
  
Jack's kohl-lined eyes flicked open, fixed upon her. She remembered how he'd looked when they rescued him from that island of death. The accusation in his eyes... the bitter despair. She thought she saw shadows of it, now, but perhaps it was just the dim light. The candles were burning very low. Two had already gone out.  
  
She met his gaze, feeling naked to it, but pushed forward. “He says that... he meets these two souls in Hell. In eternal torment, blown about in a dark whirlwind. But they're together, and he asks to speak with them. The girl is Francesca, and she talks to the poet.” She saw Jack lift a brow, and she shifted in the bed, moving strands of wet hair out of her face.   
  
“Get on with it, or I'll get distracted,” he said quietly.  
  
“So they were... Francesca was married to Paolo's brother. The story is that Paolo served as a go-between... helped his brother marry her, and then... they fell in love. They didn't know it, until one day they were alone, and they were reading a book, together...”  
  
She saw Jack's tongue dart out to moisten his lips, his eyes still hot and strong upon her.   
  
“... and they read about these other two lovers, and how he kissed the mouth he'd so longed for, and how it was trembling...”  
  
Elizabeth folded her fingers together, so that they would not tremble under the weight of Jack's stare.  
  
“...and then Paolo kissed her. And that day, they... read no more.”  
  
The last candle gave a flicker and went out. There was a heavy silence in the sudden darkness.   
  
“Jack,” she said in a whisper.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“The candle's gone out. Is there another?”  
  
“Not sure. No, not in here.”  
  
“Oh.”   
  
Another silence. Some sloshing of the water, and Elizabeth could only assume he was getting out. “Can you bring the other blanket over?” he said quietly.  
  
She felt for it on the end of the bed, found it, picked it up. Unsteadily she rose to her feet, and put one foot in front of the other until she reached the tub. She turned, seeking him.   
  
“Here,” he said.  
  
She took two more steps. And walked right into him. “Oh... h-here,” she said, shoving the blanket against what she assumed was his chest, and his body was warm and moist and then his arms were coming around her...  
  
He found her mouth with little difficulty, and when he roughly explored it with his tongue she arched against him with a soft cry, unmindful of the blankets or the moisture or anything else.   
  
He pulled away, gently, nibbling at her lower lip before releasing her. “So that's what happened to Paolo and Francesca?” he murmured, beginning to pat the moisture from his skin with the blanket.   
  
“I don't know,” she breathed, taking a few steps back. “Maybe they stopped reading because the candle went out.”  
  
She heard Jack chuckle in the darkness. “And what was it they were reading?”  
  
“The story of Lancelot. So you see... it's not innocent.”  
  
“Yes. Not so harmless after all. Pity. I rather like it.”  
  
Elizabeth, after backing away, had reached the bed, and climbed in. “I can't imagine why. I should think _you'd_ feel sorry for the poor, noble old king who loses his beautiful bride to the young, virtuous knight.” She couldn't keep the smile out of her voice. She did so enjoy taunting him.  
  
“Are you calling me old? Or poor?”  
  
“No more old than noble.”  
  
“Two edges there, too.”  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
Something landed in her lap. She picked it up. Her shirt.   
  
“There's my noble gesture of the night. Get dressed.”  
  
She shed the blanket and slipped into the shirt, fumbling with the buttons in the dark.  
  
“So what happened to them?” Jack asked.  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Francesca and, er, what's his name.”  
  
“Paolo? Well,” she said, thinking as she pushed the buttons through their holes, “Francesca's husband killed them both. He surprised them one day in her room. He killed Paolo on purpose, Francesca by accident - she threw herself in front of her husband's blade while trying to protect her paramour.”  
  
“Pity,” Jack said. “And for that, they're in Hell?”  
  
“Only the second circle. And they're together. It could be worse.”  
  
“I suppose. If you believe all of that thou-shalt-not.”  
  
“I _did_ say you wouldn't like it. But it's only a poem, after all.”  
  
“Ah, but let us not underestimate the power of a story,” Jack whispered, and she suddenly realized he was right in front of her. She couldn't see in this blasted dark... how was she supposed to keep her defenses up if she couldn't _see_...  
  
His hands wrapped around her arms, and he yanked her forward, against him, lifting her forearms to his shoulders and swooping in with a single motion, covering her mouth with his in a kiss that left no room for protests.   
  
In the distance, Elizabeth heard bells. She thought for a moment - between other flashing thoughts, one after the other, _Jack_ and _No_ and _I want_ \- that she'd gone mad. But it didn't stop - the kiss, nor the sound - and both were pulling her apart at the seams and she felt as though she were crumbling, no longer completely of herself.  
  
Jack relented, just for a moment, his lips still open across hers. “That's midnight,” he breathed into her mouth. “Eight bells. Time for bed.”   
  
So she wasn't mad... at least, if she were, the bells were no sound proof. She tried to catch her breath. Difficult with him so close. “It's late,” she managed, withdrawing her arms from around his neck.   
  
She was determined to make it through this night without betraying Will. She prided herself on being good, on being faithful to him as he was faithful to her, and she told herself she would _remain_ faithful. No matter her small lapses... she only need survive this one night, and in the morning she would be gone. She was through waiting in Kingston. She find out who had last seen the _Pegasus_ and what had become of Will. She would sneak aboard a ship or set out on her own if necessary.  
  
Anything was better than this.  
  
Having a sense of purpose gave her the strength to lean back and move away from Jack, whose eyes were just visible in the darkness, now that her sight had adjusted and the tiniest sliver of moonlight ghosted from the windows. It was not enough to see by, but it was enough to sense movement, to tell changes in the air. She crawled backward on the bed, and finally tucked her feet underneath a sheet and lay down, fully aware Jack was watching her.  
  
“Good night,” she said firmly.  
  
“Good night,” he whispered back, but there was a nasty, sharp undertone that set her on edge again. She heard his feet on the floor, knew he was walking about. She heard him pick up the bottle and heard it slosh, and then she heard the rustling of clothes and assumed - hoped - he was dressing.   
  
She began to relax. With every moment that he left her alone, she grew more tired. Her lids were heavy. She hoped he would leave... or make a bed on the floor... or...  
  
Everything was silent for she knew not how long. In her somnolent state, she almost didn't notice when he climbed into the bed.  
  
Almost.  
  
Her eyes flew open. “Jack, you promised me the bed.”  
  
“Yes. For sleeping.” He rolled toward her, and she felt his hand on her stomach, having slid beneath her shirt. His palm was hot and weather-roughened against her soft skin, and she felt as though it were wearing away at her, from the outside in.   
  
She flung it off. “I wish to go to sleep.”  
  
“So do I. Eventually.” The hand returned to her shoulder, and he was quickly turning her body toward him, so that they lay side by side, face to face.   
  
“Jack...” And once again his name sounded like a plea, and she looked at what she could see of his face in the darkness. There were dark places and rising planes, his cheekbones cliffs, his eyes dark pools. “Why must you make this so difficult for me?”  
  
His eyes met hers with an expression that seemed like disbelief. “Me? 'Tis _you_ , that's making it difficult for you.” He lifted his head and pressed his lips to the base of her neck, turning his head gently back and forth. She leaned her head back, hoping to remove temptation, but he only followed, and then the tips of his teeth met her bare shoulder, and she shuddered.  
  
“I love... him,” she gasped, as she felt his fingers begin to work their way up her thigh.  
  
“Reminding me, or yourself?” he whispered beneath her chin, and shifted above her just as his fingers and thumb closed around her thigh, pulling it outward. “You can love him. Makes no difference at all. Don't care in the least.”  
  
“Are you telling me... or yourself?” she forced out on what little breath she had, as Jack's breeches-clad hips landed between her spread thighs. “Stop this at _once_. You must understand I've... taken an oath of marriage.”  
  
He did stop, but only to lift his head above her and look down at her, and she couldn't tell if his expression was more disdainful or amused. “To quote you, that's not the point. And besides, you're not undoing any oaths... only taking a little holiday from them.” Then he shifted to one side, and she was relieved he was no longer atop her... until she realized it was so that he'd have his hands free to unbutton her shirt. He undid two. She reached down and re-buttoned them.   
  
“I swore before God, and our families, to love and honor him! Not that _you'd_ understand about keeping promises.”  
  
His hands moved upward. Two more buttons. Her fingers followed, shaking, trying to get the buttons back in their holes, as though that alone would save her. She saw him smiling a sordid smile before he answered, “That's because they're not worth keeping, mostly.”  
  
Another few buttons. He was unfastening them faster than she could re-fasten them, and the two over her bosom were now gone, and before she could stop him his hand was inside, spreading to cover her breast, thumb sweeping across a nipple. She groaned, and caught his wrist, pulling his hand away.   
  
She turned her head to glare at him. “Not worth it? He's a man who's saved your _life_. Or have you forgotten that?”  
  
Jack shrugged, or perhaps it was just the movement of his shoulders as he rolled on top of her again, his hands between the small of her back and the bed, and he was dispensing with the re-fastened buttons entirely, lifting the hem of the shirt inch by inch as her hands and fingers trailed helplessly on his forearms in an attempt to stop him.  
  
He had pushed her shirt up under her arms, exposing her to him. “Now, there's your dilemma,” he whispered against her earlobe, tongue flicking out to taste it, too. “If we go to hell, will we end up in with the lustful, the perjurers, or the traitors, I wonder?”  
  
“I've no intention of finding...” She sighed in frustration as he bent to bestow lazy, open-lipped kisses on her chest and the curve of her breast. Then he fastened his mouth on a nipple, and sucked hard, just for a moment, and she arched against him, crying out. “Please,” she was breathing, begging him to stop, and he left her breast to nibble his way down her stomach and below. A torturous descent. She had to stop him, before it was too late.  
  
“Don't,” she said raggedly, as he pressed the flat of his tongue to the soft skin of her inner thigh. Was he there, already? She was coming apart, she thought, she had to gather the pieces of herself, or she would be lost.  
  
“Don't what?” he replied, exhaling purposefully across her curls.   
  
“I meant, _stop_...”  
  
“Don't stop?” he prompted, moving his lips against her lightly.  
  
“ _No_ ,” she tried to protest his twisting of her words, his twisting of her insides... “Don't...”  
  
“Don't worry, darling,” he said with just a hint of threat, making sure his lips brushed her in exactly the right place. She shivered. It was too much. “I've no intention of stopping.” Then he gently lifted her hips toward him.  
  
The tip of his tongue, and she was dying. Dying. It flicked her gently up, then down. She was suspended in his hands, waiting for the next. She was appalled at herself, caught by such an endeavor... it wasn't as though she'd _never_ felt that before, it only seemed that way because she'd never felt it from _Jack_ before...  
  
“More?” he whispered, the air from his lips sending a shudder coursing through her. He lowered his chin to allow his mustache to tease her, turning his head gently back and forth.  
  
She willed herself to shake her head, silently, back and forth, mimicking his gesture, no longer trusting herself to speak. Perhaps he would give up and let her go.  
  
“Are you certain?” he breathed against her, this time parting his lips to touch his tongue to her, warmly, gently.  
  
Her breath came in uneven gasps. A tremor seemed to settle in her limbs, from her middle outward, and she was shaking so strongly her hips seemed to move of their own accord. Jack was still. He still held her bottom cupped in his hands.  
  
“Lizzy... why won't you let it go,” he paused long enough to murmur, letting his tongue return to its soft, quivering bit of flesh.  
  
He held it there, patiently, while she shook.   
  
She guessed he thought she deserved this torture, for being so stubborn. And she was stubborn, but about a world of things he'd never understand... he'd tasted ruin long ago and she was only now having it placed before her. She didn't want to let go of everything she'd ever known and held true... even when she let him make a pirate of her she believed she was doing it for the right _reasons_ , and there was no reason in this.  
  
Only chaos. Blindness that would lead to helpless, whirling destruction. He moved his tongue against her again, so little, so very little, but it tightened her even more, and she nearly sobbed, her fingers digging into the bedclothes, clawing for some hold, some support, something to anchor her.  
  
_Will... I'll think of Will,_ she told herself. Except that the only thought she could muster was that she'd known pleasure from him before, but it took hours, hours they seldom had, patience she seldom had, and Jack's words and hands and mouth were catapulting her forward along this road to oblivion much, much faster. Alarmingly fast.  
  
And he wasn't even _moving_. She could stand it no longer.   
  
She pushed with both palms on the bed to sit up, suddenly, and he still held her against his lips but looked up and lowered his hands when he felt her sudden movement, and by then she had grabbed his hair and pulled him away from her. Shock registered on his face as pushed him backward, violently, off the end of the bed and onto the floor. He landed on his bottom with a resounding thud.  
  
She followed her own momentum and landed on top of him, across his lap, and his surprised look melted into pleasure... she was surprised, too, but grateful, to find that his breeches were already open - perhaps he'd done that earlier? - because she was out of patience, and she slid along the length of him in a desperate attempt to meet the deep, throbbing ache he'd stirred in her.  
  
She ground herself forward and back over him. All the way up, then down. It was delightful, too good, too good, to rub him between her folds and feel the hard heat of him, there, and she told herself she wasn't giving in, as she turned her head and her hair fell across his chest, she wouldn't look at him, she would simply end this and then tell him to go to hell. She began to lose herself in the sensation, his naked chest abrading her tender breasts, his cock pulsing and scalding hot against her.  
  
“Oh, no, you don't,” he suddenly growled, sitting up between her thighs. In another moment, he had gathered her to him and flipped her on her back on the floor, and she cried out because she had been so close to release, and she couldn't take any more, she couldn't...  
  
When he sank into her, hard and deep, with a single thrust of his hips, Elizabeth was sure the world was slipping away, falling to pieces. She saw the faint outline of the windows but they blurred and shook, and Jack's hoarse groans sounded oddly staccato and far away. And then that shaking uncertainty reached her, too, starting at the center of her and radiating to all her limbs, so powerful that she was sure, positive, that she would never be whole again.  
  
She wondered if that was what it felt like to die, as she selfishly slid her hands over Jack's back, feeling the muscles push and pull under the surface as he ground himself into her again and again, smoothly, then more rough and less careful. Then he seemed to gain some control and lifted away from her, standing and extending a hand to her. “Come here,” he said in a voice she hardly recognized, it was so heavy with need.  
  
She took his hand and stood, still trembling, unsure of what to do or who had won or who she _was_ , even, and let him pull her to the bed and guide her onto her hands and knees. She was upside down, the bed in front of her and the ceiling and Jack behind her.  
  
“Needed this ever since I saw you,” he muttered, as he positioned himself between her thighs.  
  
Her chin met her shoulder as she glanced at him. “Last night, you mean?”  
  
His eyes met hers with a gaze that nearly burned her with its intensity. “Sure,” he said as he put himself inside her, and his tone told her he wasn't sure at all.  
  
It was certainly different. And perhaps that was easier for her to come to terms with, because if it had been just like being with Will it would have hurt, somehow. She also realized she had been wrong, as her fingers dug into the bed for support and Jack's hands covered them, because she'd thought that giving in to Jack would be guilty and shameful... instead it was liberating to give in, to lose herself completely, to meet and meld...  
  
Soon she had lowered herself to her elbows and thighs on the bed, and Jack was covering her body entirely with his. He held her wrist with one hand and used the other, low on her abdomen, to lift her against him, before he slipped it down to caress her where they joined. It was a transformation of a different kind, not a feeling of flying apart, but a sense of turning inside out. Part of her was escaping, sliding out to moisten the tops of her thighs, and when Jack stilled inside of her, harsh words entering her ear and a hot rush entering her body, she wasn't sure entirely sure where she ended and he began.  
  
When it was over, he lay collapsed atop her for a long moment, and she reveled in the feel of his warmth everywhere. She moved only when she could positively no longer breathe under his dead weight, and then they tangled themselves up in each other. He trailed fingers over her hair and arms, sometimes to her waist, as they lay curled together in a dark, silent limbo.  
  
“What happens to that idiot poet after he goes through Hell?” Jack murmured against her nose.  
  
“Mmm... the world turns upside down. Or he does.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
“And then...” She smiled a bit, knowing he couldn't see it in the dark. “... his lovely Beatrice meets him at last and guides him away.”  
  
“Where does she take him?” he whispered, his hand making winding paths across her body.  
  
She found his eyes with hers, not caring if he saw the fear, the regret mixed with exhilaration. “Paradise,” she whispered back.   
  
She thought she saw him smile, ruefully, and she wondered if he was thinking of facing the morning, and the hours after. And the days after that. But it wasn't long before exhaustion overcame them both, and that night they spoke no more.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Countdown

6\. Countdown  
  
  
Elizabeth awoke enfolded in Jack's arms from behind, and realized she'd stirred because he was talking, his breath hot in her ear. The man never shut up, even while asleep, it seemed. “'M dreaming,” she thought he was mumbling.  
  
She blinked open her eyes to see the room nearly bright with sunlight. It was early morning. She turned her face against Jack's feeling his beard abrade her cheek, and she felt a nervous twinge in her chest. She was in bed with a man not her husband. She was in bed with _Jack_. Naked.  
  
“Can't be real,” he was murmuring again. His arm became more snug about her middle, squeezing her tight.   
  
Her throat began to work after a moment, and she whispered, “Why not?”  
  
“Mm... 'cause you're a virgin... and I'm dead,” he replied, sleep weighing down his words. Another sigh, and Jack was still again.  
  
She lacked the energy to puzzle out his last statement, and so she shifted to try to extract herself from his embrace. She could hear sounds from outside the cabin that reminded her of where she was: calls of gulls, the shouts of men on deck as they cleaned and made repairs. She could even hear the noise of the activity by the dock, carts rolling by and people talking. Fishermen.   
  
She ought to go look for the _Pegasus_.  
  
At the thought, a blush crept into her cheeks, and shame, full and uncompromising, settled in her stomach. Will.   
  
She had only lifted one tanned arm from around her when the arm quickly snaked around her middle again. She turned her eyes upon Jack's face to see his eyes flick open. In the morning light they held subtle flecks of amber, reminding her of candlelight. Or gold. Flame and greed, under brows black and thick as the tropical night. “Where do you think you're going?” Jack whispered, his tone almost a threat.  
  
_Hell_ , she thought. “I should dress,” she told him, struggling to sit up.  
  
He lifted a single dark brow in frank disbelief, following it with a gaze that raked over her nude form as she pulled away from him. “I beg to differ.”  
  
“Jack...” But he had already pinched her sides between his hands, and was turning her onto her back, bending to blaze a trail from her navel to her ribcage with his tongue. She wanted to giggle at the silliness of it, but lost the urge to laugh when he nibbled at her breast, and forgot to breathe when he lowered his mouth to hers for a deep, demanding kiss. She could feel him hard against her thigh... suddenly the bed seemed too hot. Burning. “Jack,” she said, turning her lips away with a smile. “You really _do_ belong in with the lustful.”  
  
From up close, she only saw smudged kohl meet dark lash and part again. “So might you.”  
  
“Perhaps.”  
  
“There's worse, as you said.” He casually traced an ever-narrowing spiral on one breast with a forefinger, until he reached her nipple. “You know who's in the ninth circle. Betrayers.” A brief glance he cast on her face held mischief.  
  
“You can't mean _me_ ,” she said, trying to keep her breathing even.  
  
“'Course I do,” he replied. “Mouths of Satan hold the traitors.” He captured a nipple between his lips, scalding it with his tongue.   
  
“Oh, _really_ ,” she said on a half-gasp, as he released that side and switched to the other. He had nerve to accuse _her_ of betraying him... under the circumstances. “However flawed... your thinking, I'm curious... are you Caesar or Christ in that scenario?”  
  
He withdrew his lips and regarded her a moment while she caught her breath. “I suppose that would depend...” He moved gracefully on his hands to bring his lips against hers.”...on whether that kiss of yours stabbed me in the back, or hung me out to dry.”  
  
He kissed her, gently, earnestly, a revisiting of that long-ago kiss, but with him as the aggressor this time, until she eased him away with her thumbs at his cheeks. “All told, I do think you ended up more wet than dry, after that?” she said.  
  
“So did you, I'll wager,” he said with a sly smile, and extended a hand between her thighs to confirm the enduring truth. The rough pads of his fingers pressed into her sensitive flesh, and her hips nearly lifted off the bed, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.  
  
“I _did_ apologize about that, Jack... years ago... and you admitted that you rather... forced my hand,” she gasped, reaching down to close her fingers around his wrist before he could undo her any further.  
  
He looked down at her, almost tenderly. “No use trying to shackle me now, darling... you're still guilty.” He curled one finger inside of her, stroking in and out, deliberately.  
  
“You require penance?” she breathed, helplessly moving to meet his hand.  
  
A gold grin appeared in the sunlight. “I do have a penance needs some attention.”  
  
It was a long while later and a good deal brighter when voices out on deck began to sound animated, and shouts reached her ears even through the thick haze of replete passion that surrounded them. She lifted her head from where it rested on Jack's bare thigh.   
  
A knock sounded on the door. “Cap'n!”  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“Cap'n, best get out here! She's come!” It was Marty.  
  
Elizabeth barely had time to register Jack's saucy look at her, and hear his second “Aye?” before she had leapt from the bed. She hastily picked up her trousers and began to pull them on, before she remembered the gaping hole. And her undergarments, which were somewhere by the tub...  
  
“The _Pegasus_?” Jack called to the crewman, still laying calmly in the center of the bed, a sultan's ease in his limbs.  
  
Elizabeth's finger shook as she pulled on her undergarments, pulled up the trousers again, hastily concocting an excuse for the tear. An accident while riding, a fall on the dock, a catch on a nail, a....  
  
“No, Captain - the horse!”  
  
Jack's puzzled expression met Elizabeth's fearful one, and his quickly melted into bitter annoyance. “Awfully eager, aren't we? 'Spose you'll be needing this,” he remarked, finding her shirt in the bedclothes and tossing it in her direction.  
  
Except he overthrew it, and it sailed over her shoulder and landed with a wet _splap_ in the previous night's bathwater.  
  
She flew, horrified, to the edge of the tub. “Jack! My shirt!” She whirled to face him again. “What am I to do?”  
  
“Whoops,” he said, folding his arms across his chest with a smirk. “'Spose you'll have to wait here till it dries, or at least till I fetch you a different one... which shall take most of the morning, I fear.”  
  
Every nerve in her palm itched to slap the smile from his face, but she restrained herself and marched resolutely to the wooden hooks on the side wall, where Jack's shirt hung. She snatched it down and threw it around her, doing up the buttons with alacrity.  
  
“What do you think you're doing?” he said, finally sitting up and throwing back the sheet.   
  
“What I should have done last evening,” she shot back. “Leaving.”  
  
“You heard him, it's not the _Pegasus_ after all,” Jack said, strolling toward her, wholly unconcerned about his nakedness. “Just something about a horse.”  
  
“That's not the point,” she said, finishing the buttons. “I can't stay here.”  
  
“Oh, _this_ again,” Jack said with a roll of his eyes, turning away to find his breeches. “You know, Lizzy, you'd be much better off admitting that you've a penchant for my company.”  
  
“I do _not_ ,” she argued, storming past him in search of her boots.  
  
“All this nay-saying; I take back what I said earlier, you'd fit better with the heretics than the traitors.”  
  
“Ha!” She sat on the bed to tug on one boot, then another. “Fitting. You _would_ think you're God.”  
  
Jack had pulled on his boots, and strode toward her. “You're awfully high and mighty yourself, having thoroughly enjoyed this night's tupping by a pirate.” She did leap up to slap him, then, but he caught her hand and warred with her, silently, as she struggled to free it. “Now, now, Lizzy, you ought to know better.”  
  
“I _do_ know better,” she spat from between clenched teeth, finally wresting her hand free.  
  
His eyes flashed. “No better than any other so-called vestal who's found a new calling in my bed.”  
  
She did slap him, then, but she launched her arm before spreading her fingers, and ending up striking him in the eye so that his head snapped sideways, and she saw him lift his palm to his eye with a grunt.  
  
Still shocked and furious, she breathed in and out, quickly, while she waited to see what he would do. She mentally calculated the path to the door. Past him, three strides and out. He lifted his head, removing his hand to reveal a red, tearing eye and an even more murderous expression.  
  
“I _am_ better... or at least, better than you,” she said with an air of finality, darting past him and dashing out before he could say a word.  
  
  
She knew he would be behind her, knew it as she flew out of the cabin and onto the deck. She heard the door open and close behind her, but she was already across the ship, heading for where a crowd of crewmen stood excitedly talking and pointing toward the dock.  
  
He caught up with her only to have all eyes turned upon the two of them; him shirtless and sporting one puffy eye, her wearing a much-too-big man's shirt and looking nervous. “What the devil's going on?” Jack demanded, trying to shift attention away from them.  
  
“Captain, it's that horse you were telling us about,” Gibbs said, inclining his head toward the dock. “The crazy beast's making a ruckus at the dock.”  
  
Elizabeth fought her way to the rail, vaguely aware of Jack beside her. It was the Paso Fino. What had they named her? Estrella. It was certainly her - the stance, the gait, the color and smudge of white above her eye. Several fisherman were trying to herd her off the wharf, but she whinnied and pranced and evaded them, trying to head farther down the dock. No reins bound her and she could not be caught.  
  
“Why - she's found us!” Elizabeth said, bewildered, as she watched the horse trot back and forth around the blockading dock workers.  
  
“Aye,” said Gibbs. “She must have gotten quite fond of ol' Jack... she's about ready to climb the gangway!”  
  
Elizabeth exchanged an uneasy look with Jack, who quickly assumed a more stoic mask and turned his eyes back to the dock. “Well, then we'll have to teach her a lesson, then, won't we?” he said quietly, and then clapped a passing Pintel on the shoulder. “Fetch me a bucket of water.”  
  
He turned back to Elizabeth, and rested an elbow on the rail, his eyes suddenly sparking with something dangerous. “She might not know it, being such a free spirit and all,” he said, the timbre of his voice smooth and deceptive, “but she wants to go with me, have me take her as my own. What she doesn't understand is that the ship's no place for her. She'd be trapped in the hold, always in danger, having to be suspended in a harness during rough seas so she don't break her legs. It's no kind of life, no matter how she might feel about it now.”  
  
“Who are you to determine how _she_ feels,” Elizabeth snapped, entirely sure he wasn't just talking about the horse. “Who says she wants to go with you?”  
  
Just then, Estrella neighed from down on the dock. Jack peered over again, and smiled. “Oh, I can tell. How she sounds. How she moves. How she looks.” He fixed an emotionless gaze upon Elizabeth. “A man knows.”  
  
“A man knows very _little_ , if you ask me,” she retorted, watching as Pintel brought the large pail of water across the deck. She stared at it, then looked back at Jack. “Jack... what are you going to do?”  
  
His eyes were dark and hooded as he regarded her, taking the bucket from Pintel. He said nothing, but turned and headed for the gangplank. A bit of fear began to creep into her chest.  
  
All the crewmen followed him. Elizabeth trailed after them, calling “Jack! What are you doing?” to no avail; he ignored everyone and charged down to the dock.  
  
“Out of my way, beef-heads,” he muttered as he elbowed aside the hapless fishermen and sailors who had gathered to watch. When he stood in front of Estrella on the dock, the horse suddenly paused mid-rear, settling and stamping her front hoof on the boards. She lowered her head, and took a tentative step toward Jack. “So you're looking for me, eh?” he said, standing well away.  
  
Everyone noticed the horse's change in demeanor, and murmured to one another. Jack lifted his chin, confronting the horse face to face, with only a few feet of distance between them.  
  
“I'm going to give you one last chance to get lost, girl, and then I'll not be responsible for my actions,” he said, loud and clear, in a sharp tone. Estrella peered at him curiously, flapping her ears back and forth. “Go on,” he said. “Go on! Go! Go away! You're not coming!”  
  
Estrella only shifted her hooves about, stamped again, and whinnied softly.  
  
“You've been warned,” Jack said, lifting the bucket in his hand.  
  
“Jack, _no_!” Elizabeth said, horrified, elbowing her way through the assembled crew. “No. That's cruel!”  
  
“Last chance!” Jack was saying, adopting a tone of command. “Be gone! Shoo! You're not wanted! Count of three!”  
  
“Jack!” Elizabeth cried, fighting her way out from between the others. She was able to reach out and catch his arm. “Jack, don't do this. _Please_. Please, don't!”  
  
  
Jack shook her fingers off his arm, ignoring her completely. “One!”  
  
Estrella took a step backward with her hind legs, but just as quickly stepped forward again. Elizabeth drew up beside Jack, and tried to pry the bucket from his fingers, to no avail.   
  
“Two!”  
  
“Jack, _don't_.” Elizabeth left off tugging at the bucket, and instead wrapped her hands around Jack's bare arm. Estrella flapped her ears and tail, but otherwise remained stationary.  
  
“Three,” Jack said, and in a single motion, wrested his arm free of Elizabeth's grip and heaved the bucket into the air, tossing the entire contents in an arc that fell upon Estrella's face.  
  
The horse, shocked, reared up with a terrified whinny, both front hooves pawing the air, before she landed again. Just as soon landed she backed almost to the edge, and then turned her head sharply and took off up the dock at a near-gallop. Men leapt out of her way as she charged, headlong, back to land, away from the ship, the sea, and Jack.  
  
Applause and cheers went up around them, but Elizabeth sat still where she had fallen when Jack freed himself. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes as she followed Estrella's majestic, fast-disappearing form up the dock and away. She had never felt so alone, as those around her congratulated Jack and laughed. They didn't understand what the horse was, what she _meant_. Only Jack did, and he'd purposefully destroyed it.   
  
He wanted to hurt her. Wanted her to think he was completely callous, so she'd never be tempted to return to him or his bed. Well... he had succeeded. She got slowly to her feet, and found Jack talking and laughing with Gibbs, just in front of the gangplank.  
  
“Very nicely done, Captain Sparrow,” she said sharply, watching as the conversations ground to a halt and everyone took in her disheveled state and tearstained face. “You've successfully scared off a single stupid, starry-eyed horse through unexpectedly cruel means. What shall be your next feat of amazement, I wonder?”  
  
Jack exchanged a knowing glance with Gibbs, one that seemed to say, _Women_. “It's for her own good, love,” came his condescending response. “She can't have come along.”  
  
She took a few slow, deliberate steps in his direction. “How do you know what's good for her? Perhaps she didn't want to come along. Perhaps she only wanted... one last ride,” she said, lowering her voice as she approached him. The others watched, but she doubted they understood their private war.  
  
Jack regarded her with lifted brows, and crossed his arms over his chest, looking down over her as though to size her up. Then he returned his eyes to her face. “Better that she remember the bucket of water,” he replied, ominously, before turning and pushing his way through the crew and up the gangplank. “Do keep an eye out for the _Pegasus_ ,” he called back to her, “perhaps today's your lucky day? Or mine, since it means I'll get me shirt back.”  
  
The crew laughed, and she seethed. Hurt and disbelief had given way to anger, now, and she stood, rooted to the spot, myriad ways of wreaking revenge on him flashing across her mind. She breathed in, then out, each breath seeming to swell her larger and larger till she was sure she would burst. He was sorely in need of a lesson... and then it came to her exactly how she might go about teaching it to him.  
  
The men had already turned away from her to continue their conversations, some climbing back aboard, some standing around, talking, when she began to march toward the gangplank. She barreled through the others, using an arm to knock people aside who were not savvy enough to move, and strode resolutely up the gangway onto the ship. When she reached the deck, she shaded her eyes from the sun with one hand as she looked for Jack. He was nowhere on deck.  
  
Hiding, was he? Even better. She swung around and spied his cabin door open about an inch. There.  
  
She crossed the deck and slipped inside, shutting the door behind her and closing the latch.  
  
Jack turned from where he stood in the middle of the room, holding an empty bottle of rum in his fist. She supposed he'd just emptied it, although it couldn't have been full after the previous night. He frowned at her. “Thought I told you to stay on deck.” Then he took in her incensed expression, and smiled a bitter smile. “Come now, let's part friends, shall we?”  
  
“We're not parting yet,” she said in a quiet, steely voice. She placed one foot in front of the other until she drew up close to him. “Do sit down, Jack.”  
  
He eyed her warily. “I'd rather stand.”  
  
“Would you?” she said, reaching out a hand to unlace his breeches. “Well, let's find out if you can.”  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
She had already plunged her hand inside, and squeezed him roughly, when he grabbed her forearm to pull her away.  
  
“No. No more. That's done with,” Jack said, taking a small step backward.   
  
“Why? Because the great Jack Sparrow wills it so?” She reached for him again, stroking up and down, noting his body's instant response.  
  
“I'm sure... hm... wouldn't Will... er... will, it so?” he replied, backing away from her probing hand. “Elizabeth, enough.”  
  
“Let's get something straight, Captain Sparrow,” she said as she continued to manipulate him. “You don't decide _everything_ in this world.”  
  
He turned eyes on her that were sparking with both anger, and desire, she guessed, as he was mostly hard already. But he reached down to yank her hand away, holding it fast. “You're playing with fire.”  
  
“Stuff it,” she told him. She lifted her arms and shoved him with her palms on his shoulders. He stepped backwards. “ _I_ decide what's good for me.” She shoved him again, and he stumbled, dropping the empty bottle with a thud. “ _I_ decide what I do, and with whom.” The third time, he was ready for her push but tripped on the bottle, and fell sprawling on his bottom on the floor. She landed atop him, straddling his lap, and bent close, taking in his bewildered expression.  
  
“I think I'll have my one last ride,” she whispered, reaching down to free him from his breeches. His hands closed around her arms to stop her, but too late, and she pulled her undergarments aside without even thinking how that slice in her breeches came to be. She sank upon him and relished the shock on his face at how quickly she'd managed to do it, how easily he slipped inside her moist heat. “Oh, and Jack - “ she leaned forward, raising herself on her hands, lowering herself again. “-I'm not a bloody _horse_.”  
  
She began to ride him in earnest, closing her eyes to the shocked expression on Jack's face, noting only when his hips began to rise to meet hers. She slowed her pace, immediately. She didn't want to please him. She didn't care about pleasing him.   
  
“Elizabeth... stop,” it sounded like he was groaning.  
  
“Did you ever stop, when I asked you to?” she whispered back. “Did you?”  
  
“I couldn't help it,” he rasped, leaning up to meet her. His hands found their way into her hair, tangled in the strands. He parted his lips to kiss her, but she turned her face away, reluctantly.  
  
“No,” she said, “none of that. All of that nonsense about love and fateful kisses and poetry. This is all we have. Only this.” And she increased her rhythm again.   
  
“So you'd like to believe,” he said against her cheek, his hands falling to her fabric-clad hips to guide her motions.   
  
“I never would have stayed with you,” she said, inhaling sharply as he managed to thrust particularly deep. “Never, ever.”  
  
He gave a small chuckle, his hips coming off the floor to plunge deeper. “I swear... I never would have... let you.”  
  
“Promises, promises,” she said against his beard, nipping with her teeth. “I've learned what those are worth, from you.”  
  
“Their weight in gold,” he said with a golden grin. “Which is nothing. Unlike your weight, which is decidedly... more.” In retaliation she sat down upon him hard, robbing him of breath but taking in him to the hilt. He groaned. “Are you planning on keeping this up... until it hurts?”  
  
“Till it hurts me, or you?” she said, pinning his shoulders beneath her elbows.  
  
“If you weren't wearing clothes, I'd strike that bottom of yours,” he retorted, his breathing becoming labored as she drew her knees closer to his sides, tensing her thighs.  
  
“Would be better if it hurt you... or both of us,” she whispered, grinding down hard upon him. “We might be less tempted to... do this again.”  
  
“At this rate, we'll be doing 'this' till time immemorial,” Jack lamented, his hands settling upon her hips. “You've made your point.”  
  
“Have I?” She had planned to overpower him, to demonstrate his weakness for her and then leave him high and dry, as it were, let him throb and pulse and she simply get up and walk out, back to her normal life. It would serve him right, it would... but as her anger ebbed, desperation and frustration took its place, and she found herself wanting more.   
  
She had gotten what she'd intended: passionless copulation. Clothes and strong wills and place in society separated them now and would perhaps forever, and she needed that barrier, to preserve herself from being utterly lost... and he was hot inside as he filled her, but it went no farther than that. She closed her eyes and straightened her arms as she lifted and lowered herself upon him repeatedly. She wanted to use him as she thought he'd used her, to prove she didn't love him, not even a little, she couldn't, she _couldn't_...  
  
“Elizabeth.”  
  
She ignored him, squeezing her eyes shut tight.  
  
“Elizabeth, love?”  
  
Her eyes snapped open. “Stop calling me that.”  
  
“Fine... bitch,” he replied, amusement pulling up the corners of his eyes as he looked at her. “Don't you think we ought to change this around a bit?”  
  
“No,” she insisted. “You're staying where you are.”  
  
“If that's what you want,” he said in a melodious, patronizing tone, pulling his arms up to fold them behind his head. “I've got all day, but I'm not the impatient one.”  
  
“Just shut _up_ ,” she told him, leaning forward for better leverage.   
  
“I'm only trying to help. Seems you could use some.”  
  
“Don't need any help from _you_.”  
  
“Help yourself, then... I don't mind. I'll just watch,” he said, raking his eyes up and down her form. “Though those breeches of yours might make it difficult to reach.”  
  
_Difficult to...herself?_ Like some hussy? Her cheeks flamed, and she glared at him. “What do you think I am?”  
  
“Rather frustrated, at the moment.”  
  
How did he know... he always knew. After a moment, she began to bounce upon him with renewed determination, only to feel him shaking... he was _laughing_. The beast was laughing at her.  
  
She hit his chest with her fists. “How dare you laugh! You old lecher!”  
  
“'M sorry,” he said between chuckles, reaching up to cup her jaw. “But the point of ravishing someone _is_ to satisfy yourself. Wisdom from your _elder_ \- in case you didn't know.”  
  
“Well, I can't help it if I find you... unsatisfying,” she retorted, twisting her head away from his stroking palm. But this only made him laugh harder, and she ceased moving altogether, and glared at him murderously.   
  
His chortling gradually ceased, and he met her glare with a lively warmth in his dark eyes. “Let me, will you?” was all he said.  
  
“Why? So you can humiliate me again?”  
  
“You're doing a good job of that all by yourself, just now.”  
  
“Too bad for you there's no one here to see it.”  
  
“Would you like there to be? I imagine Will'd find this an interesting spectacle.”  
  
“Don't even _mention_ him.”  
  
“I'm sure he'd think someone ought to.”  
  
She exhaled an exasperated huff, dropping her nose to his breastbone, not quite giving in, just between two equally unpleasant alternatives: cede to Jack, or uncouple from him and say goodbye.  
  
Not yet, part of her silently pleaded. Oh God, not yet.  
  
Her hair trailed across his chest as she turned her head to lay her cheek against his heart. She listened to it beat, felt his chest rise and fall with each breath.  
  
“Don't go to sleep now, darling.”  
  
“Don't - “  
  
“Call you whatever I bloody well please,” he snapped petulantly, taking her head between his hands and pulling up. “Like it or not, you're mine for the time being, do you hear?”  
  
“Here's where _I_ may mention Will.”  
  
“Hang Will,” he said, and kissed her. Hard. Fiercely, deeply. His tongue swept every corner of her mouth, and she was helpless to stop him. His lips slanted over hers, the tiny triangle of bristles beneath his lower lip scraped against hers, his hands slid up and under her shirt - _his_ shirt - and stroked up and down her spine, pressing her against him. A moan escaped her before she could stop herself. She jerked back, eyes wide.  
  
“No more games,” Jack said in a menacing whisper. He lifted her up and off him and turned to the side, guiding her onto the floor beside him. Before she could resist he was inserting his fingers in the waistband of her pants, smoothing them down and off of her together with her meager undergarments. “Ought to burn these,” he said of the clothes as he tossed them aside. He then shoved his hand so roughly between her thighs that she gasped, but he only tickled her with four fingers across her curls, and looked down at her.  
  
“Thought you said 'no more games,'” she chided him, struggling for breath.  
  
“So I did. I meant, from you.” He stroked her with the pad of one finger, lightly, so lightly between her folders, a bead of remaining on his fingertip as he withdrew it. She watched as he lifted it to his lips...  
  
“Jack, _please_ ,” she sighed, watching him lick his fingers... he was taunting her. As usual.  
  
“What was that, darling? I can't have heard that properly.”  
  
“You know damn well what I said.”  
  
He rolled away from her and made a great show of unfastening his breeches, sliding them down and away, and folding his hands behind his head. “Pity. I didn't get nearly enough of that.”  
  
“Enough of?” she almost panted, rolling over to slide her palm across his stomach.   
  
“You,” he said, looking at her devilishly. “But... I don't fancy bashing my knees on the floor - I'm old, remember?”  
  
“Then let's get on the bed,” she murmured, trying to keep the plea out of her voice.  
  
“How pedantic,” he sighed.  
  
“Jack!”  
  
“I'm thinking.”  
  
“Think faster,” she almost growled, her hand descending to massage him - still firm, and she had no intention of wasting it... he groaned, then, and began to sit up.  
  
“All right,” he whispered, and knocked her hand away, scooping her up as he stood. For all his jests about her weight, he carried her easily to the bed and deposited her in the center. Now he would fall on top of her, he would make love to her, he would...  
He was just standing there.  
  
“Jack?”  
  
“I want to remember this,” he was saying, his eyes moving over her. “Elizabeth Swann - “  
  
“Turner.”  
  
“ - whatever, naked and begging for me on my bed.”  
  
“Remember what you like, but _stop_ toying with me,” she demanded, propping herself on her elbows. “And I'm not begging - in fact, I'm about ten seconds from walking out that door.”  
  
“Manure,” he said with a wrinkled nose. “Go on and count.”  
  
“One.”  
  
He dove for her on the bed, covering her body with his and capturing her lips again, plunging his tongue inside. _Two_ , she counted on a groan. His hands ground unapologetically over her breasts, and she sucked in a much-needed breath. _Three_. She needed more.   
  
Her lips were freed and his mouth and beard were etching lines down her middle, marking her as his own. Whether he would keep her or not. _Four_. Tickling her curls. Teasing her. She despaired. He would leave her in this agony forever... the point of no return. She abandoned all hope. _Five_. His lips surrounding her like strong city walls... laving her with his tongue. _Five_? No, six. Broad laps, now. Sweet, hot pressure. Five. Six. God, which was it? Oh...  
  
He was pulling her against his teeth, his lips, his tongue, he was far too practiced at this... his beard scratched her lower, heavenly... _seven_ , he was turning his head back and forth, she would kill him if he stopped, right then and there, either kill him or die, herself... _eight_ , faster, faster, more, more. She was dying. She forgot to count for she knew not how long, then remembered, _nine_ , the downward spiral was complete, she was his. Completely his. Will was forgotten, God, vows, self, all lost. Nine, she counted again in her last moment of consuming hell. He opened his mouth and drew her inside. Hard.  
  
She sobbed aloud as she fell and the world reversed itself, tumbling her into something she was certain was very like paradise.  
  
She was still there, floating in ether, as she became aware of Jack atop her, Jack between her legs. Jack within her. She draped her arms over his shoulders and moved with him, kissed him and took him inside her mouth, too.  
  
There was too much noise. Shouting. Pounding. Her eyes fluttered open, and Jack was still, his face contorted in near-pain.   
  
“It's the _Pegasus_ ,” someone was calling outside the door. “She's made port!”  
  



	7. One Worth Keeping

Jack swore so viciously that Elizabeth thought her ear would blister, before she lost her ability to breathe entirely, and her arms slipped weakly down as her fingernails dug into Jack's chest. “And her captain?” she whispered without air.  
  
“Her captain?” Jack called toward the door in a gruff, strained shout.  
  
A pause. Elizabeth's hands shook. Jack held himself within her, avoiding her eyes.  
  
“The ship and captain in one piece, we seen 'em both!”  
  
Elizabeth drew a sudden, great breath, as though saved from drowning, and to her utter surprise, she burst into tears. She had barely begun to weep when she realized Jack was gathering her close, saying “Shhh, don't cry. It's all right. It's all right.”  
  
“I'm sorry, I - “ she hiccupped, her trembling hands dancing aimlessly over his shoulders, his back, as though searching for something to hold fast to. “- just so afraid that something had - “  
  
He silenced her with a long, deep kiss that robbed her of breath again, and then pulled away. “Shall I let you up?” he asked quietly.  
  
She lay there, gasping for breath, for a long moment. Jack was deliciously heavy upon her, full and throbbing inside of her. He expected her to push him off, to end their rendezvous _in media res_ , to leap up and hurl insults while dressing before bounding out the door. That was, in fact, exactly what she ought to do.  
  
“'Lizabeth?” he said, and it was almost a plea, as his hips moved of their own accord. She knew his need, felt the tension in his limbs and heard the tremor in his voice. She drew in a shaky breath.  
  
“If he is well now, he shall still be well in a quarter of an hour,” she whispered, not meeting his eyes.  
  
A rueful chuckle from Jack. “A quarter hour? I'm touched. And flattered,” he said dryly. But he had already found a pace, and she was meeting him, urgently, completely. She could only see parts of his face; his lip as it drew back, exposing a gold tooth or two, a single bead of sweat suspended from his brow, swaying back and forth endlessly before it finally fell.  
  
Two hours later, he found her a pair of breeches in a trunk that were so small that they must have belonged to a much younger man - or older boy - but Elizabeth didn't ask about that, and took them and put them on along with a different shirt and tunic.  
  
He dressed, too. Everything. Bandanna. Hat. Pistol. Sword.  
  
“Think you'll be needing that?” she said, indicating the sword with a lift of her chin.  
  
“Not sure. Our good friend Paolo probably could have used it, eh?”  
  
“The hour for Will to have burst in upon us is, thankfully, past.”  
  
“Would have liked to see his face,” Jack mused, buckling a strap. “Especially when you were - “  
  
“Jack! Don't jest about such things.”  
  
“Sorry, force of habit.” He finished, and strode up to her, sliding his hands around her waist from behind. “Would you have sprung to my defense, I wonder? Thrust yourself between his sword and my heart?”  
  
She scoffed. “Don't be silly. Of course not.”  
  
“Well, at least I've learned where I stand,” he grumbled, nuzzling her ear playfully. “And that loving you's a dangerous endeavor,” he added, without thinking, it seemed to Elizabeth.  
  
Her hands froze on the brass button she was shoving through its hole, only for a moment, her fingers suddenly trembling.  
  
“I meant - “ he began.  
  
She whirled to lay a finger on her lips. “But the latter, you knew already, didn't you, Jack?”  
  
He nipped at the finger she had placed there until she snatched it away, so he could speak. “Right. So try not to need rescuing any time soon, Mrs. Elizabeth-Iscariot-Turner.”  
  
“Try not to get sentenced to hang, Almighty Captain Jack Sparrow.”  
  
He suddenly leaned in and kissed her, once more, earnestly, hungrily. Just as abruptly he stopped and turned away, yanking open the door to the cabin.  
  
“Promise me,” she said, catching her breath. “If you pass by Port Royal... or you see us in port... you'll send word.”  
  
He lifted his palm in a mock swear, and she nodded. She pretended to believe his promise, and he pretended not to notice. She preceded him out the door, and he followed and shut it behind them.  
  
She never told Will where she spent the time he was delayed by a bad storm and a fallen mast. She simply said she'd managed, and was so delighted to see him that she didn't wish to waste a moment discussing the time they were apart.  
  
It was a three-day lie she couldn't tell. The truth would haunt her much longer than that.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
_Spanish Town, Jamaica  
  
  
_ Elizabeth Turner lifted an orange from a street vendor's table, held it in the palm of her hand. Most of her English friends wouldn't even eat uncooked fruit - they were afraid of indigestion. Only Elizabeth had picked up the custom from being aboard ship, and she'd retained it long after her sailing days were over.  
  
Things changed. She and Will sold the _Pegasus_ five years before. Competition was fierce and they got an excellent price, and besides, they need to live a different life. A good life, but a different one. They settled in Spanish Town and he returned to metalworking, proprietor now of a vast shop with a number of apprentices. His work was known all over Jamaica.  
  
They had enough money. Not an overabundance, but enough for a servant or two and a modest house on the slope of a hill. Palms framed their garden. She loved the palms. She and Nellie cared for the house. She was happy. Mostly.  
  
She fingered coins in her purse, mentally tallying the correct amount for the three oranges she'd chosen. She was gathering coins for the the fruit seller in her hand when she heard a small voice say, “Mama! That man's a pirate!”  
  
A sudden chill went through her despite the warm morning, and she forgot her count. She did it again. She gave the man his coins - too many, probably, in her haste - and turned around, scanning the crowd nearby.  
  
She was suddenly alone. Dreadfully alone, where she ought not be. “Jane!” she called at the top of her lungs. “Jane!”  
  
The oranges fell to roll on the ground as Elizabeth took off at a run through the marketplace.  
  
She dodged servants with baskets and vendors carrying armfuls of fish and produce, trying desperately to keep sight of a small, dark head bobbing amidst skirts and legs yards ahead. “Jane Frances Turner, you come back here!” she yelled, to no avail.  
  
A large wheeled cart full of bananas suddenly rolled into her way, and she caught the edge in her gut. The wind was knocked out of her. She stared, dazed, as her daughter toddled out of sight down the street. “ _Jane_!” she cried when she could breathe again.  
  
She stumbled around the cart, opting for the street instead of the sidewalk. She moved as quickly as she could in her skirt and walking shoes. Not for the first time in the last five years, she wished for breeches and boots.  
  
She scanned the entire street, repeatedly, noticing nothing amid the horses, soldiers, vendors and people milling about. Her chest felt tight. It was so fast, she'd only turned to pay the man, taken her eyes off for a _second_...  
  
Up ahead, she suddenly saw a coach barreling down the street at a great rate of speed. She stared, dumbfounded, at it, before she saw a flash of light blue dress in the street. In the middle of the street.  
  
Directly in the path of the coach.  
  
She hoisted her skirts with both hands and ran, ran as fast as she could, taking great gasping breaths and mentally cursing the Caribbean heat, yelling “Stop!” between gasps, and then suddenly she struck a large Negro woman's body and was stuck behind her, powerless as the coach hurtled toward her child.  
  
“ _Jane!_ ” she screamed, certain she was to watch her daughter be crushed before her very eyes. The coach was upon her.  
  
Suddenly Jane was being swept up by two arms, snatched from the street, and out of sight behind the coach zooming past, and Elizabeth gaped as she shoved the blockading woman aside and dashed across the road, unmindful of any traffic either way. A horse reared up to avoid her.  
  
She reached the other side, breathless from exertion and terror and relief, barely able to walk. She spied Jane's face over the shoulder of a man with his back to her, a gray shirt and simple breeches, a navy scarf over his head and tied at the side, above a thick black ponytail tied with a leather cord.  
  
“Mama!” she cried.  
  
“There, now, love, no harm done,” the man was saying to Jane as Elizabeth approached at a near-run, her heart beating faster than ever before, as the man turned around with Jane in his arms. “Here's your - “  
  
Elizabeth's heart stopped.  
  
“-mother,” finished Jack, eyes grown wide as he appeared rooted to the spot.  
  
“Mama, he's a pirate man, I saw his face on the wall,” Jane said merrily, with her chubby arms looped comfortably around Jack's neck. One of Elizabeth's hands flew to her chest, and she struggled to breathe. _Just breathe_ , she told herself. In, then out. Can't have forgotten how.  
  
He was older, she noted. He'd always been older, but now he looked it. Silver streaked his black hair at his temples before disappearing beneath a worn blue scarf. Gray dotted his beard, too, which was wider and thicker than before. But his eyes were the same, she saw, feeling her stomach lurch at the deep darkness of them, the expression in the cocoa irises as he looked back at her.  
  
“W-what happened to the red one?” was all she could stammer out, feeling like a complete idiot.  
  
A salt-and-pepper brow sailed north, as his eyes roamed her from bottom to top. “'Twas time for a change. And your sailor's weeds?”  
  
“I'd say the same. Things change.”  
  
“So I see,” he said, glancing at Jane's pink cheek and back to Elizabeth. “Congratulations are in order? Though a bit late... what's it been... oh, five years, say?”  
  
Elizabeth swallowed, painfully. “Why, yes. And thank you.” She held out her arms for Jane, who only clung tighter to Jack. Her arms fell, empty, to her sides.  
  
“Something cured what ailed you, then, all those years ago?” Jack spoke to Elizabeth, but he watched his ringed finger trail over Jane's nose and forehead, her tiny ear. She giggled.  
  
“Perhaps that shipboard bath held mystical properties,” Elizabeth suggested, her heart pounding loud enough to drown out all the sounds around them.  
  
Jack's gaze fixed upon her with a mixture of heat and amusement. “Or something got shaken loose during that... ride.” There was a pause before he added, “Suppose her father's gracious about it, considering?”  
  
“He doesn't know about that,” she whispered, feeling as though she might actually faint, right there in the street. “He believes Jane Frances is our own small miracle.”  
  
“'Course he does,” Jack replied with a grin, tickling Jane so she giggled again. Then he looked at Elizabeth soberly, almost wistfully. “You could have found a way to write.”  
  
“So could you,” she answered.  
  
He regarded her for a moment more and then nodded, looking up to catch sight of a few soldiers strolling their way. “I've got to go,” he said calmly, unwrapping Jane's arms and handing her over to Elizabeth. “Now. I'll find you later, promise.”  
  
Elizabeth saw the soldiers, too. She smiled sadly at Jack, taking Jane into her embrace. “Sure you will.”  
  
“I will, too,” he said, touching his temple and giving a sweeping bow for Jane's benefit. “Take care of her,” he said to Elizabeth, and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.  
  
“Not a word about the pirate, all right, darling?” Elizabeth whispered sternly to her daughter, who nodded solemnly.  
  
“Was it bad to chase after him, Mama?”  
  
“Yes, most certainly,” Elizabeth chided her, moving into the path of the soldiers. “But we'll talk about that in a little while, all right?”  
  
She spread her still-supple lips into a broad smile and sauntered up to the tallest soldier in the group of four. “Excuse me, sir, do you know the way to Swamp Road? We're visiting relatives, from Kingston. Oh, forgive me - where are my manners? This is Jane, and I'm Mrs. Turner. _Oh_ \- “ she laid a hand on the hilt of another soldier's sword. “-what a fine sword! Who made it? My husband's in the trade, didn't you know?”  
  
The four men hovered clustered around her, moths in awe, while she prattled on long enough for any man, even one who ambled as leisurely as Jack Sparrow, to be long gone down the road.  
  
  
  
  
It was a week later, after seven sleepless, brutally hot nights during which Elizabeth used the excessive heat as an excuse to sleep alone, that she woke in her chamber to a strange sound: the neighing of a horse.  
  
Will had been at the smithy since dawn, so there was no reason for there to be a horse in the yard. She was about to go peer out the window, when Nellie burst into the room.  
  
“Missus Turner,” she said. “Oh, bless ye, you're awake already. Dress and come down straightaway. It's the oddest thing.”  
  
Elizabeth frowned but threw back the sheet. “Is Jane awake?”  
  
“Oh, mercy, yes,” said Nellie, and then she disappeared from the bedroom.  
  
Minutes later, Elizabeth emerged from the front door at Nellie's insistence to where Nellie's husband Alex, their jack-of-all-trades, was trying to catch hold of the reins on a small, very animated horse.  
  
A Paso Fino. Dark brown.  
  
Alex saw Elizabeth and smiled, finally succeeding in grasping the reins and guiding the horse round in a narrow circle, till she calmed. “Seems our Jane's got an admirer,” he called to Elizabeth.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“This horse is for her. Leastways, that's what the man said.”  
  
Elizabeth felt a nervous flutter in her chest. “What man was this?”  
  
“Don't rightly know, miss. Truth be told, I didn't care for the looks of 'im. But he met me in the road, just ahead here, and handed me the reins to this one. 'For little Jane Francesca,' said he. 'It's no divine comedy, but I found at least one worth keeping.'”  
  
“Why... one _horse_?” Elizabeth said, daring to hope and remember, staring dumbly at the gorgeous animal before her, as she switched her tail and flicked her ears expectantly.  
  
“That's what I said to 'im, miss. And he says, 'No - a promise,' just like that. And then he was gone. Can you imagine?”  
  
“Yes, Alex,” she replied, her throat feeling tight. “Yes, I can.” She approached the horse, who bent her head politely, eager for Elizabeth touch on her nose. She thought back over the years, the things Jack given her that she thought motivated by selfishness on his part... the rescue, shelter, the bath, and comfort, knowledge... and now the Paso Fino. He wasn't really selfish, not terribly... it only seemed Jack's generosity was as erratic and spontaneous as his theft. But it was his gift, nonetheless. Elizabeth's breath hitched in her throat, and she might have begun weeping had she not been nearly bowled over by the collision of Jane with her legs.  
  
“Mama! Did we get a new pony?” came the small voice. Elizabeth laughed and scooped her up, watching as the child reached to scratch the horse gently between the eyes.  
  
“Yes, love,” Elizabeth whispered, not quite trusting herself to speak. “Isn't she pretty? Don't you like her?”  
  
“Can she be my pony? I love her,” said the impetuous Jane, reaching out a stubby hand to twist in the horse's long, thick, black mane. “Her hair feels like mine.”  
  
“Alex, fetch the other saddle,” Elizabeth said over her shoulder. She pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead, hoisting her higher with her arms so she could pet the horse's head. To Jane, she whispered, “Let's go for a ride.”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Original 2007 end notes): Thanks to everyone for sticking with this one to the (bitter?) end. Truman Capote said, “Finishing a book is like taking a child out into the back yard and shooting it.” It can be true. Waving goodbye to a work dear to your heart is depressing. I do have one more (short) tale in mind before AWE comes out - inspired by djarum99’s prompt of ‘an acquired taste’ - and I thank her profusely for helping me develop and put in Jack and Elizabeth’s exchange about the inferno in the beginning of 6. I didn’t know there was going to be that much smut in 6. They just wouldn’t shut up and stop having sex. 7 was the ending I had in mind from the beginning (Jane and erinya’s Jamie, coincidentally both logical derivations of Jack) and I knew I wanted the horse to be Jack’s parting gift. Comments are all I have! Feedback much, much appreciated.


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